


You Need to Get A Head

by SanctusCecidit



Series: Our Name is Legion [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctusCecidit/pseuds/SanctusCecidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bureaucratic error results in Medic having the most ridiculously awful week of his entire existence, and making a terrible, life-altering discovery. Will he survive? Will he remain sane after gaining this new, dreadful knowledge? The answer to the second question is easy, of course: whoever said he was sane to begin with? -An illustrated story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Special Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, and thanks for pausing to take a peek at my first TF2 fanfic. I fell in love with this crazy world, and found myself coming up with a silly story about it. It's completely written and weighs in at 38k words, but I'm going to post chapters twice a week because it's more fun that way. I'm also a fan of sfm, so I've made an illustration for each chapter on my Deviantart page. I'll link the relevant fanart with each chapter. If you look ahead at fanarts for chapters that haven't been posted yet, you will spoil yourself badly! You have been warned. I'm struggling to fit this story into a suitable genre, so let's just call it a suspense/tragedy/humour/hurt-comfort/horror story. Keeping it simple, y'know. I've avoided using too many tags since I feel overuse of them might spoil the surprises of the plot.
> 
> Shares, comments and kudos are really appreciated because I'm a raging egotist. Hey, at least I'm honest about it.
> 
> Translations of any non-English and links to each chapter's artwork are included at the bottom of each chapter. Hope you enjoy the story!

“LAST ONE ALIVE, LOCK THE DOOR!” A gravelly voice screamed, before its owner leapt into the air and fired at the ground beneath him. He soared into the air with a gleeful warcry and smoking boots, aiming yet more rockets at distant specks of blue.

 

“Ngghh...” RED Medic ground his teeth in frustration. Every damned time he followed the berserking Soldier into the fight, the battle-crazy idiot would forget he was there at some point and abandon him in the middle of contested territory. The man was, without a doubt, effective in a rather crude and bombastic way, but he most definitely made Medic’s job a lot harder than it needed to be.

 

_Soldier (RES016/d): Various mental problems, suggested schizotypal personality, if not full schizophrenia. Slight deafness in the 4-5kHz range due to years of proximity to explosions. Has a deep and abiding obsession with firearms and can be unpredictably violent. Wanted for manslaughter in Poland. Works for RED in return for promise of amnesty._

 

Cover...he needed to find cover. Medic had no illusions about his ability to survive a one-on-one fight against the various trained mercenaries employed by BLU. He knew he was a valuable member of the RED team even though he was no fighter. Thankfully, though, Dust Bowl had no shortage of corridors, piles of refuse or just plain old big stones to hide behind.

 

“We have lost the control point. The enemy has been rewarded additional time.” A disdainful voice boomed through the poor quality PA system that surrounded the battlefield. No matter what happened, the Administrator, as they called her, always sounded vaguely disgusted with the mercs who lived, killed and died on her command. Repeatedly.

 

_What a place. What an insane, stupid and pointless war._ There was...was there? Yes! A shimmer of blue, to the left, before the RED Pyro stepped into view.

 

_RED Pyro (REP004/j): A pyromaniac, needless to say, but also a social phobic. Severe asthmatic from years of breathing dust in the Li & Fung Ltd. factory. Many burn scars. Wanted in the USA for involvement in the distribution of controlled substances (Lysergic acid diethylamide). Works for RED in return for promise of amnesty._

 

Medic snarled, reaching for his syringe gun. He _hated_ that BLU Spy! He didn’t even like that _Hurensohn_ of a Spy who was supposedly on his _own_ side, and certainly did not trust his BLU counterpart. They made his neck tingle with a strange, creeping dread. He had always had this gut feeling that Spy was his most dangerous enemy, although he couldn’t say why.

 

_RED Spy (REY050/a): No particular health issues of note. Has undergone extensive reconstructive surgery on his face for unknown reasons, but most likely as part of a witness protection scheme. Has a wide-ranging intelligence network that seems impossible to compromise or infiltrate. Keep away from any sensitive information. Works for RED in return for the promise of a new identity._

 

“Mrrddk!” Pyro called, giving him a friendly wave, but Medic swung towards him and squeezed the trigger of his syringe gun, peppering that rubber suit with little red needles. The rubber shimmered, and faded into the form of the skinny BLU Spy.

 

“Merde.” The Spy said casually, sounding about as annoyed as if there was a queue for the cinema, rather than having been punctured with poison-filled needles. He reached for his pistol, but before he could fire, Medic dived for the ground and scrabbled at his belt for his saw. It was a crude weapon, lacking the style and versatility of the syringe gun, but it was certainly simple to use. However, there was a bang and Medic’s arm spasmed and his fingers lost their grip on the saw as his chest blossomed into warmth. He gasped for breath at the impact of the bullet, and heard his breath bubble as blood surged up his throat and spilled out of his mouth as red foam. He was drowning, gasping and struggling to get his breath and he felt his limbs spasm as he sprawled on the sandy ground. _Lung shot. Dying. Drowning._ His chest forced him to take a gurgling unsatisfactory breath. How strange it was that the body would continue to strive to stay alive when the mind knew there was no point. Why not give up and save on futile agony? The blue sky filled with bright stars and turned grey, then a timeless nothing.

 

There was a _crack_ and Medic found himself lying flat on his back, staring at a familiar white-tiled ceiling. A fluorescent light buzzed and flickering annoyingly.

 

“Oh man, not you again. You ok, Doc?” A voice with a slightly nasal, American accent stated. “Look, if ya gonna live here, couldn’t you at least fix that dumb light?”

 

_RED Scout (REC012/f): Only known health issues are occasional migraines. Extreme extrovert, which led to his involvement in the Boston Irish Gang War. Wanted by the police for questioning regarding several turf killings, although it is unknown if he was directly involved, or only a witness. Works for RED in return for certain large bribes to the Boston Police Department._

 

“Hmmph.” Medic blinked watering eyes and taking measured, deep breaths. Respawn was a miracle of technology, bringing them back from death time and again, but it was most certainly not pleasant. It was an old joke on the RED team that when they died, they didn’t kick the bucket- they _filled_ it. It felt like a very brief, but terrible hangover, complete with dry mouth, raging thirst, thudding headache and churning stomach. There was, indeed, a covered plastic bucket in the respawn room, just in case. It was something of a rite of passage- once a merc had lost his stomach contents on respawn, then he was truly one of the team. As Sniper had once said: _The team that pukes together, stays together._ The Australian had snickered at his own humour and Spy had rolled his eyes sourly at his crudeness.

 

_RED Sniper (REN034/e): One of the more mentally stable mercenaries, seems to have chosen to work as an assassin as an adjunct to his original career as a hunter in the Australian Bush, presumably for the money. Although otherwise healthy, has a rare congenital condition that has rendered him immune to the effects of Australium. As a result of this, he is something of a pariah in his native country, although his work as a hitman has not yet caused legal problems. Works for RED in return for a USA immigration permit._

 

“I notice you are in here too, Scout, so presumably you vish to share.” Medic replied sourly, standing up and reaching for the pitcher of water that was always present in the respawn room. He poured himself a shaky glass and downed it in one gulp before giving Scout a narrow smile. “Perhaps you could perch on my shoulders to help? Considering you couldn’t reach ozherwise.”

 

Scout snorted derisively and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “I was just getting more ammo, numbnuts. So..you usin’ the Quickfix today?” His voice gained a slightly hopeful tone, but Medic shook his head firmly.

 

“Nein. After zhe incident with the Soldier and zhe sawmill, I prefer to keep zhat under lock and key. Not to mention zhe number of times I’ve been introduced to zhe very _hard_ valls of various buildings due to the misjudgement of Demo.”

 

_RED Demolitions Expert (RED001/n): Exhibits all the symptoms of shell-shock and is a chronic alcoholic. Sometimes displays suicidal ideation. Lost one eye in an unfortunate childhood accident. Highly knowledgeable with regard to high-energy chemical reactions and ballistics, but seems to have very few interests outside this. Exhibits some delusional behaviour with regards to supernatural myths and legends. Wanted by the Wester Ross, Strathpeffer and Lochalsh Police Force for charges relating to property damage. Works for RED in return for promise of amnesty._

 

“Oh man, that was fuckin’ hilarious.” Scout gave a snorting snotty laugh that made Medic scowl. “Ah, c’mon, it _was_. You screamed like a little girl. Ehh...ok you didn’t see the funny side I guess.” He sighed and reached into the resupply cupboard, grabbing a handful of shotgun pellets and shoving them into his bag.

 

“Alert! Our final control point is being captured!” The Administrator’s voice sang out, the quality in the small room slightly better than it was out in the open air of the main battle field.

 

“Whaaaaat? That is such bullshit. There is so _way_ those fuckin’ BLUs are getting that point, it’s only just outside! Stick with me Doc, let’s get ‘em!”

 

“Ja, ja, I’m coming.” Medic grumbled, standing up and grabbing his medi-gun. The respawn hangover had mostly cleared now, and since Scout was right in front of him, he might as well heal him and build up an übercharge. In these control point battles, it had to be said that Scout- if he would stay in range of Medic and let him _verdammt_ heal him, was very useful. This was the last contested area of Dust Bowl, and all RED had to do was keep this last point to win the war.

 

Scout and Medic burst out of the door to the sound of gunfire. Scout cursed in disgust at the grinning BLU Scout running circles around the control point, and shot a few rounds off with his sawn-off shotgun, making their enemy leap back, spin in midair and sprint off back into the maze of ochre coloured buildings, shooting buckshot back in the rough direction of the point. Medic ducked hurriedly as ricochets pinged and zapped around the metal scaffolding surrounding the point and then sighed as Scout gave a gleeful cry and zoomed off towards the distant splodge of blue. Medic looked around quickly to see who else he could shadow. His healing often made the difference between life and death, since his medigun could heal bullet-wounds almost instantly, the bullets spitting their way out of the skin as the person’s body rejected them in disgust, but in order to actually heal someone, they had to be _present_. Control point fights like this were the most entertaining for him, since the team tended to keep close together (except for Scout, Soldier, Sniper and Spy...), giving him plenty of chances to heal their various fascinatingly gruesome injuries and keep himself occupied without dying.

 

“Hey, Doc.” There was a metallic clang as Engineer hit his sentry. It looked up at him, beeped and a rocket-filled box popped out of the top of its main body. It then beeped again and wiggled like a happy puppy. Engineer grinned, his cheeks wrinkling around the safety goggles that protected his eyes from random shards of metal.

 

_Red Engineer (REE042/b): Possesses genius-level intelligence and excellent social awareness. Although generally well-balanced and friendly, can become erratic if hypoglycaemic. Suffers from Type I diabetes mellitus, but even with this health problem is too valuable an employee to retire from the battlefield. Has stated that he is wanted by an individual whose name he will not divulge in relation to intellectual property theft. Works for RED in return for protection from prosecution._

 

“Guten tag, Engineer.” Medic said in return. He liked the Engineer. _Everyone_ liked the engineer, he was that sort of man. In many ways, he was the _de facto_ leader of their RED team, simply because he was able to stop them murdering each other on a daily basis. One of the best threats on the base was ‘Engie wouldn’t like it if you did that’. However, Medic had found the Engineer to be, in many ways, a kindred spirit and they had spent many nights discussing new plans and ideas for machinery or medical equipment. They were both inventors, and had done a lot of work on the various technologies that had led to the respawn system. Engineer was one of the few people he could talk to who didn’t develop that familiar politely blank look after a few minutes of conversation with the doctor. Engineer was probably unaware of it, but Medic always kept a close eye on him on the battlefield- with his relatively poor health, it seemed only fair, especially since the man’s machines could easily make the difference between victory and failure. Medic considered him the second most valuable member of the team. After himself, of course.

 

“Doktor!” A deep gravelly voice with a thick Russian accent called joyously. “You respawn again? Was it BLU Spy again?”

 

“Ja.” Medic turned and gave a fond smile to his dearest friend. Heavy was both taller and far more muscled than he was- an absolute giant of a man. In fact, he towered over the entire team. If they had been allowed to take group photos, heavy’s head would have ended up being cropped out of every single one. It was fascinating, really, and Medic had often wondered about the biological reasons for his vast size. His confidential medical records made no mention of acromegaly or any similar conditions. So, presumably, it was simply a matter of genetics.

 

_RED Heavy Weapons Expert (REH009/h): Hugely strong and tall, but also possesses considerable mechanical knowledge. Avoidant personality type- removes the need to discuss an obviously painful past by personifying objects of importance to him. No known health problems, but has many small fracture calluses indicative of a violent past. Is considered враг народа (enemy of the people) in the USSR. Works for RED in return for officially recognised status as a political refugee._

 

Medic pointed the gun at his friend, feeling it thrum into action in his hands as it locked onto its target and then retreated around the corner, out of sight of the enemy guns. There was no sound except for the measured beeping of Engineer’s sentry device and the whirring of Heavy’s powered-up minigun. The sentry suddenly swung around and launched a couple of rockets and Heavy followed the movement and shot off a quick round of bullets in the same direction, and then gave a savage, toothy grin at the distant scream. Medic found himself sharing the same grin. The Russian’s cheerful enthusiasm always cheered him up- it was oddly infectious, seeing someone take such pleasure in their job, even if that job was murdering people. There was another deep cry from the sky as Soldier came soaring from God-knows where to land with a metallic clang on the roof above them. The burly man leapt off the roof and landed neatly next to Heavy.

 

“Private, report.”

 

“Privyet, Soldier, but my name is not Report.”

 

“No, I said ‘ _Private’_. Don’t start that commie crap.”

 

“And I said ‘Privyet’ too. What is problem?”

 

Heavy gave Soldier an innocently blank stare and Engineer looked down and grinned at his steel-capped boots. Medic felt the corners of his mouth twitch too. It was often hard to tell, with Heavy, whether he was deliberately appearing teasing someone or genuinely lacking understanding. Medic suspected that, to Heavy, this was all some sort of complex joke. That, of course was where those confidential reports on each of his teammates fell short. They were dry, short, psychological and physiological profiles designed to help him, as the team’s Medic, do his job on a day to day basis. However, they lacked subtlety, and, in some cases such as his own, were just plain _wrong._

 

_RED Medic (REM029/b): A highly creative individual prone to sudden intuitive leaps in thinking rather than pursuing careful scientific methodology, but still seeing himself as a man of science. Neurotic, socially inept and prone to crippling perfectionism. No reported health problems but it is entirely possible that he self-medicates without updating his own medical files. Has been summoned before various ethics committees regarding medical treatment of guards and officers at the Hutchinson Internment Camp in 1941, 1942(twice) and 1943. Works for RED in return for promise of amnesty._

 

“Woohoo! Here they come!” Scout came running back to the point, weaving a zig zag pattern to avoid getting shot. “Fuckton O’ BLUs, headed this way!” The young man backflipped to land delicately by the Soldier and loaded more shells into his shotgun.

 

“Comin’ through! Scuse me, doc.” A tanned hand suddenly pushed Medic back, firmly but politely and Medic held his breath as the smell of fermented apples washed over him. Demo pointed his grenade launcher and fired sticky bombs in a line in front of the point before retreating to join Medic in the corridor. He gave the german a grin and waved his sticky bomb launcher, his teeth looking very white in his dark face. “Let the others take the damage, eh?”

 

Medic nodded, trying to smile and not breathe at the same time.

 

“Niiir hrrw.” A quiet voice murmured, and Pyro- the real one this time, not a spy- appeared from around the corner of the concrete building, tipping his head on one side like an inquisitive dog. He shuffled into a corner and crouched, ready to incinerate anyone who got too close.

 

Engineer glanced at his watch. “Only gotta hold this point for ‘nother fifteen minutes, and we’re done. Where’s the rest of the fellas?”

 

“Right behind you.” A soft, lilting voice called out of midair. Medic and Engineer both started slightly, and Medic made a small irritated hissing noise.

 

Spies. Gottverdammt, missgeburt wertlos Fettbacken!

 

“Gotcha covered, mates.” A voice called from overhead. There was a sudden loud bang. “Ha! Run that one off, ya pesky ankle-biter! Roight, here they come!”

 

Medic couldn’t see many of his brothers-in-arms from where he was hidden, but he knew they were there and that he could rely on them all. They all so much in common: they were all outcasts from normal society, either by choice or through plain bad luck. All of them were hunted or disparaged by those who made the rules to suit themselves.

 

And yet, they were each completely unique individuals with their own talents, strengths and weaknesses.

 

_Or were they?_

 

Why had he thought that? Medic frowned in puzzlement, but the pop-pop sound of a grenade launcher announced the BLU team arriving in full force and there was no more time to think beyond the moment and figure out who to heal next and whom to leave to die and respawn.

 

Medic felt his mouth stretch into a wide, some would say demented, grin.

 

He loved this part.

 

**In Chapter Two:** **Demo discusses poetry (seriously), and Scout wonders about some of the oddities of the mercenaries' lives.**

_Translations:_

_Privyet - Hi!_

_Gottverdammt, missgeburt wertlos Fettbacken! -God-damned, bastard, worthless dirtbags!_

Artwork link: [http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-One-Special-Snowflakes-436999364?q=gallery%3ASanctusCecidit%2F48334051&qo=16](http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-One-Special-Snowflakes-436999364?q=gallery%3ASanctusCecidit%2F48334051&qo=16)


	2. Afore Ye Go

There was a final loud explosion and the last surviving member of the BLU team, the Soldier, expanded into a messy collection of stringy red globules that landed around the team with an unpleasant wet splatting noise. Scout wrinkled his nose at the smell. He’d gotten used to, you know, killing people, but that smell when they got turned into giblets, ugh. It wasn’t so bad during the battle, fuck it, he’d smelled much worse, but it was after the fights at dinner time when he found himself thinking about how that tasty cooking smelt like exploded Pyro that it became a problem. The team were now convinced he was Jewish since he didn’t have the stomach for pork any more. He missed bacon, damn it!

“This sucks.” Something meaty hit his cheek and he wiped it off unconsciously and then cleaned his hand on his shirt. “That one was mine, dude, what the hell?”

 

Soldier grinned back at him from under his helmet. “That’s not what was agreed in the rules of engagement, son. I got that maggot fair and square. That makes it eight kills to me, six to you.”

 

“There are only nine BLUs. I kill four. How you kill fourteen between you?” Heavy asked curiously.

 

“My guess is by lying.” Medic called from around the corner. “Anyvay, I vas involved in every single kill, vhich gives me nine. I vin.”

 

“Five minutes to go, fellas.” Engineer said, leaning casually on his dispenser and checking the large chunky watch on his wrist. “And incident’ly, my sentry recorded seven kills there, and I doubt the doc healed _that_.”

 

“Ah, but I kept you alive vhile _you_ repaired ze sentry, so it counts.” Medic’s voice replied smugly.

 

“I think yer all fibbin’ ‘cos I nabbed two of them before they even got close.” A voice said from above their heads.

 

“Mrrr frmmmfhurrr gurrrt freeee hrrrrrummm.”Pyro commented quietly, stroking his flamethrower absently.

 

“And I stabbed their Engineer and sapped his teleporter,” A disembodied voice added. There was a crackle and the smell of ozone, and Spy appeared wearing a slightly smug smile to go with his sharp suit. He casually tapped some ash from his cigarette. “And I have no doubt their Sniper was nowhere within reach of the battle, in any case.”

 

“Oh he totally _was_ , that one I did see Solly get.” Scout said with a nod. He leapt and attacked Soldier, grabbing the larger man’s neck and scrabbling up his back in an attempt to wrestle playfully. “It was like fwwweeeeee psssssh BOOM!”

 

Soldier cackled throatily and grabbing the younger man’s arms to throw him off.Scout was determined to hang on though, and eventually Soldier resorted to grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him off bodily to throw him onto the ground, but Scout rolled and leapt up again with a snorting laugh. A huge hand suddenly grabbed him and hauled him into the air.

 

“No fighting own side.”Heavy growled at the struggling scout. He shoved the Soldier back bodily away from the dangling man.

 

“Hey man, we were just shootin’ the shit and stuff.” Scout explained, pulling at the neck of his shirt which threatened to strangle him. Heavy twizzled the young man in the air and gave him a puzzled look.

 

“You do what?”

 

“Ey, leave ‘em to it, they’re just playin’.” Demo said, plunking a new set of grenades into his weapon. “Ah reckon it takes, whut, fifteen minutes to respawn so since we killed all twenty seven o’ them, I don’t think they’ll be back tae challenge us again. Dustbowl is ours, lads!” He raised his empty bottle of scrumpy in salute and then took a disappointed sip from it and shrugged.

 

“Better stay on guard though, maybe there’s another thirty or forty of them BLUs waitin’ in the wings for us.” Engineer said, idly clanging his wrench against the dispenser.

 

Scout was not only the youngest member of the team, but also the newest. This was his first battleground, while the others had been carted all over the world to fight battles. So far, he was having a blast. He fitted right in and it was _great_ to get a chance to show off his mad skills. Sure, people died and shit, but that happened on the streets too. So far, he’d been lucky and not got injured in the gangland turf wars, but now he was lucky every damn day- even if he died, he came back, even though it fucking hurt. How many of the McLaughlins could say that? And these mercs on the team, yeah, they were all old, but they were the _real deal_. Solly and Demo were, anyway. They were cool, and he’d quickly decided they were going to be his friends. Medic, though, was this huge nerdy wuss, Engie was nice but boring, and Pyro was fucking _weird_. Sniper and Spy, yeah, wow, they were _amazing_ , your real professional hitmen, but not easy to get to know. He’d thought at first that Heavy was just this big dumb moron, thought with his fists, but you didn’t survive on the streets without being able to watch and judge people, and he’d seen that amused gleam in the fat man’s eyes. Yeah, his English wasn’t great but Scout reckoned he was more than just hired muscle. Maybe he should try to get to know him better too?

 

“Victory.” The lady’s smug voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

 

“Woohoo! Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Scout said, punching the air enthusiastically.

 

“Good work, Privates.” Soldier said with a satisfied nod, taking his rocket launcher off his shoulder. “Medals all round.”

 

“An’ once again, I’m not makin’ pot metal medals for y’all, Soldier.” Engineer said with a grin. He took off his hard hat and rubbed his short fuzz of hair. “I got better use for scrap metal’n that. Anybody got anythin’ to eat?”

 

“Da!” Heavy rummaged in a pocket and produced a slightly melted chocolate bar, which he gave to Engie. Scout had learnt quickly that it was one of the house rules: if Engie was hungry, you gave him _anything_ you had. It was like they expected him to start chewing on their legs if he got a bit peckish. Maybe they thought he was a zombie, like that dumb film that had just come out? Ah well, boom, headshot, Zombie Engineer dealt with! Ha, he was so funny.

 

“’Preciate it, big guy.” Engineer took the chocolate in a shaky hand and bit into it cautiously.

 

Oddly enough, even though Soldier looked as happy as if he had single handedly won World War II, the others didn’t seem too bothered about their win. Shouldn’t they be cheering and getting wasted? The old gits seemed to be about as pleased as if they’d just finished their schoolwork. Satisfied, but not, well, joyful.

 

“So, what we do now? Have some big party and get blitzed?”

 

“Vell,” Medic undid one of the straps of his backpack and dropped the medigun to the floor, stretching his spine with a disturbing cracking noise. “I intend to have a shower and zhen dinner und an early night. Ve vill probably find out vhere ve are to go for our next assignment tonight.”

 

Man, that is total bullshit! Aren’t ya gonna celebrate or somethin’?”

 

Sniper’s head suddenly appeared upside down at the edge of the concrete ceiling. “S’just another job done, mate. More money in the bank.” His face disappeared again, and there was a grunt as his long legs appeared and he swung himself down carefully, landing and then adjusting his hat. “Long as I get paid, I’m happy.”

 

“You need to drop that attitude, Private.” Soldier growled. “What we do here, we do for America!”

 

Medic snorted and crossed his arms and Sniper shrugged. “Yeah, you keep tellin’ yerself that, mate.”

 

“You know, it _is_ kinda weird.” Scout said thoughtfully. “Don’tcha guys think it’s weird?”

 

“What’s weird?” Demo asked, shrugging off his flak jacket and slapping it over his shoulder. Grenades clanked together with a _toc toc_ noise.

 

“This...everythin’. I mean, who’s heard’ve a _timed_ war? Like, we knock off at five pm, every night. Like it’s some sorta job.”

 

“It _is_ a job.” Spy commented, picking at a loose thread on his silk gloves. “You think I get shot at for fun?”

 

Medic muttered something in German under his breath, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.

 

“You don’t know _weird_ , lad.” Demo replied, spreading his hands dramatically as his remaining eye widened in awe. “Back in the homeland, we...”

 

“...And respawn. That shit is crazy.” Scout interrupted, not wanting to lose the attention of the team to one of Demo’s half-assed stories. “But y’know what is the weirdest bit? I mean, fuckin’ _twisted_ weird.”

 

“How many times do ah need to tell you to watch your language, son?” Engineer said warningly, balling up a silver wrapping and stuffing it in one of his many pockets.

 

“Wrrr ssss hrrr wrrrd hhrrt?” Pyro asked, turning around to face Scout with that blank gasmask face.

 

_Well, you, you creepy freak_. Scout thought privately, but he cleared his throat. “The BLUs. You know?”

 

“Ah,” Medic gave an eager smile in reply. “Ja. Ve have all noticed zhat.” He tapped his curly black hair pointedly. “Ze BLU Medic has light brown straight hair, und is a little taller zhan I, but he is German too and looks...quite familiar. It iz a fascinating zhing, really. My zheory is zhat zhere are forces at vork similar to convergent evolution. Certain personalities and sets of experience are optimal for a particular set of tasks, und so, ja, zhey gravitate towards similar roles. Whether zhese traits are genetic or due to nurture is difficult to ascertain. Twin studies suggest zhat a surprising amount of our abilities, up to ninety percent, are not genetic, but instead are a result of environmental stimuli zhroughout life, vhich happily disproves zhe main tenets of the discipline of eugenics. However, zhat is all it can be.” Medic frowned suddenly, looking at the blank faces around him. “Surely?”

 

“Works for me, Doc.” Engineer nodded in agreement. “What he means is that sim’lar people end up doing sim’lar jobs.”

 

“So...” Scout replied slowly. “You’re sayin’ it’s, like, a coincidence? That, say, when RED and BLU needed, f’r instance, Medics and Snipers, they went to the Kentucky Derby and picked themselves a few thoroughbreds?”

 

“Wotch it, ankle-biter.” Sniper said, his long face frowning at Scout’s insult.

 

“Kentucky Derby?” Medic asked, his high forehead wrinkling in confusion, but Demo interrupted him with a laugh, slapping the slight young man on his back.

 

“Heh, yer all right, laddie. You want to celebrate, you stick with me an’ Soldier.” He lowered his voice. “You ever tried single malt? I got a twelve year old in ma room!”

 

“Dude, that’s _sick_.”

 

“Nay, I mean the water of life!” Demo struck a dramatic pose which was slightly marred by the fact he swayed somewhat. “‘Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, what dangers thou canst make us scorn?’ Twelve year Laphroaig, an Islay single malt, strong, smooth an’ peaty.”

 

“What the hell is that queer talk about, Demo?” Soldier asked in bafflement. “It sounds seditious to me.”

 

“He means whiskey.” Heavy suddenly said in his deep, gravelly voice.

 

“Wait, you know the poetry of our Robbie Burns?” Demo asked Heavy curiously, his eye widening in astonishment and sudden respect.

 

Heavy shifted awkwardly, shrugging his massive shoulders. Scout noticed Medic look over at the big man with a strange little amused smile. “Whiskey is like vodka, with taste of fish.” He stated, and then hefted his beloved minigun and plodded off, ignoring Demo yelling after him.

 

“What! Come back here an’ say that to me face! Ye drink summat made of potatoes, ya lumberin’ Sassenach!”

 

Medic gave a short bark of laughter before covering his mouth hurriedly, and then shook his head and briskly caught up to walk back into the base besides Heavy. Spy started to hum a little tune that sounded oddly familiar to Scout, but he couldn’t quite place it. He was _sure_ he’d heard it recently, though. Whatever it was, it made Sniper give a deep guffawing laugh and grin wickedly at the Spy, while Demo snickered. _Some kind of in-joke?_ Soldier gave a slight grin and looked from person to person, while Engineer sighed in resignation.

 

“You fellas are really somethin’ else.” He picked up his toolbox with a grunt. “See y’all at dinner. Who’s cooking tonight?”

 

“Urrr hurrrr!” Pyro said, clapping his hands together gleefully and nodding.

 

“So yer doin’ chinky food, like always?” Scout asked. Unbelievably, the firebug was actually a good cook, but tended to do more foreign food than proper stuff. Still, it was always tasty.

 

“Hrrrddnnnurrsss.” Pyro said after a brief pause. He looked unmovingly at Scout until the young man shifted nervously.

 

“He says it’s Cantonese.” Engineer translated. “Seems that’s kinda important to him.”

 

“How’d you do that, hard-hat?”

 

“Understand Pyro?” Engineer shrugged, patting the rubber-suited man on the shoulder. The man in the suit made an odd burbling noise Scout assumed was a giggle. “You’ll get the hang of it sooner or later, we all do.”

 

“See you ladies in the mess hall.” Soldier stated before marching back into the complex.

 

“Right, Solly, right.” Scout nodded, and wondered if there was an English-Pyro dictionary around here somewhere.

* * *

 

**In Chapter Three: The Mercernaries find out where their next posting will be, and Medic picks a fight with Spy.**

Illustration for this chapter: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Two-Afore-Ye-Go-437053017>

_Many thanks for reading!_


	3. Show No Fear

Dinner turned out to be a mixture of stir-fried vegetables mixed with ginger and slivers of chicken. As always, Pyro had taken his portion and vanished into his room to eat it, while the rest of the men gathered to wait for the Administrator to tell them where they would be shipped to next.

 

Heavy looked at his plate despondently before picking out one of the pieces of chicken. It was delicious, there was no denying it, but Pyro did not seem to believe that _meat_ was an important part of a meal, and Heavy liked meat. He _needed_ meat. He would be hungry again in half an hour, he knew it.

 

He missed Russian food. Although he never intended to return to his homeland, barring a miracle, he missed fish and barley soup, fruit kefir, strong tea fresh from the samovar and flavoured with wild berries, but especially, he missed dill, which was used so much to flavour meals back home. However, he doubted he’d ever miss kasha, which he’d always had for two of the three meals of the day. Nobody would ever miss that. A sharp poke to the ribs interrupted his thoughts.

 

“I hope you intend to eat your vegetables.” Medic said, giving him a stern glance. “Your diet is far from healzhy.”

 

“I like meat.” Heavy said in protest, but secretly, his friend’s nagging was sort of amusing and heart-warming.

 

No one else on the team would dare to poke Heavy in the ribs, let alone lecture him on his lifestyle. But then, he’d pondered, that was what he liked most about Medic- his lack of fear. Most people, upon meeting the towering Russian, would look up, give a little gasp and back away without even realising it. He’d got used to it, in a tired sort of a way, but when he first met Medic, the German man had looked at him and given him a tight, forced smile and a look that said ‘Oh, it’s you. You don’t interest me.’, and then turned away to fuss with his luggage.

He’d always loathed cowards- he hated the way they went along with anything if it kept _them_ , personally, out of trouble, no matter what harm anybody else got into. Medic was no coward, and the large man found himself intrigued by this brilliant, complex and troubled man. However, he hadn’t felt any particular like or dislike for Medic until one day, when Medic had launched into one of his long-winded explanations of...well, actually he hadn’t understood much of it. The room had fallen into an awkward and baffled silence and when Medic finished talking, he had looked around at the confused mercs and made _that face_.

 

The face of someone who never quite fitted in.

 

The face of someone who couldn’t help it.

 

The face of someone who hadn’t quite given up. Yet.

 

The face of someone who was _other_ , and knew it.

 

The face of someone who was oh, so tired of this.

 

The face of someone quite different to him, but a kindred spirit all the same.

 

Briefly, their eyes had met before medic frowned and looked away, apparently annoyed at being so transparent. He had still tried to avoid Heavy for a few weeks after that, but the weapons expert had been persistent. Siberia trained one to be stubborn (and also to hate cowards), after all. They worked together well on the battlefield and had saved each other’s lives several times over. Medic liked to talk, Heavy liked to listen, and combined with Medic finding that piece of paper, he had finally broken down those walls the man had built around himself. _Chyort_ that had been embarrassing! However, it had been worth it in the end. Heavy rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully and his spine prickled. So worth it.

 

“Vegetables are an important aid to proper digestion.” Medic said earnestly. “Do you _vant_ to...”

 

“Attention.” The Administrator’s voice suddenly cut through the idle gossip around the table. Most of the mercenaries just looked up curiously, but Scout dropped his fork and Soldier hurriedly stood up and saluted, every muscle taut and disciplined.

 

“At your service, ma’am.” He barked, staring straight ahead.

 

“Congratulations on your victory today.” The woman continued in a bored, dry voice. “I have instructions for your next posting.”

 

“What’s next fer us, then?” Demo asked, idly twiddling noodles around his fork.

 

“BLU has been causing problems in Teufort, and our previous team there was...unsatisfactory. We believe BLU has important information there that we wish to examine.”

 

“So, we’re to capture the intel?” Sniper asked. “Let me guess: we’ve got some intel too and we’ll be keepin’ it in a bodgy red suitcase, not conspicuous at all, and we’ve gotta keep those wanker’s hands off it.”

 

“Quite.” The Administrator replied, her voice gaining a sardonic edge.

 

“Have you ever thought of, to take an idea at random, _camouflaging_ the briefcase?” Spy asked sarcastically, dropping a silver of carrot from his fork back onto his plate. “Or _hiding_ it?”

 

“You are paid to fight, not to think.” The woman said disdainfully.

 

“Ah yes, that may be true of Heavy, Soldier, Scout and Sniper...” Spy continued

 

“Oi.” Sniper said, but without any real anger.

 

“...And we would all prefer it if Medic _stopped_ thinking for a while...”

 

“Ficken Sie _,_ Spy.” The German man growled, glaring venomously at the slender Frenchman.

 

“...tut, such language! However, I do believe you would not wish to have a stupid spy on your side.”

 

“Wenn Sie auf unserer Seite sind...” Medic muttered, stabbing his meal idly with a knife.

 

“Would you care to repeat that, docteur?” Spy said, rising from the table to stare threateningly at the doctor. Medic stood up slowly too, glaring steadily back. “I would be fascinated to know what I have done to earn such mistrust.”

 

“The transport will arrive for you tomorrow morning at 6am. Sniper may take his van, as per his contract.” The Administrator continued, ignoring the argument. “That is all.”

 

“Sir yes Sir!” Soldier replied, still standing to granite-hard attention.

 

“Ma’am.” Sniper murmured in correction, placing an elbow on the table idly. There was a click, and the slight hiss of an active P.A. system stopped.

 

There was a slight sense of everyone relaxing and nerves winding down a few pegs, although Spy and Medic were still trying to kill each other with their eyes.

 

“So, road trip!” Scout said suddenly. “At...6am. Ah, _crap._ What kinda time is that?”

 

“I help you pack, Doktor.” Heavy said, tugging on the angry man’s arm. “Come.”

 

Spy gave a quiet chuckle and started whistling a catchy little tune. Heavy knew he had heard Spy hum it before, but as always, he couldn’t quite place it. Various people at the table looked down or away from him and Medic, and he knew they had to be the subject of some sort of joke, but he couldn’t figure out what. Medic’s hands clenched into fists and unclenched again.

 

“Spah, Medic, stop it right now, the pair o’ you.” Engineer said, placing his hands flat on the table, one gloved, one not. “Why you two have to keep fightin’ with each other I don’t know and I don’t _care_. We’re a team and y’all should show a little _respect_.”

 

“Engineer is right.” Soldier said, nodding so fervently his helmet wobbled. “This is insubordination, and you know how we punished that, back in the war? We’d fire a rocket-blaster at their lilywhite feet and make ‘em jump forty feet into the air!”

 

“Solly, you do that every damn battle.” Demo said, slurping the last of the noodles into his mouth. He wiped sauce off his chin and then licked his hand clean of every last bit of taste.

 

“Exactly! Because I am a _man_ and I have strong boots. Those insubordinatin’ bastards were weak, flying through the air with their feet on fire! You see these boots, private? They’re made from elephant hide. Not just any elephant, but veteran elephants that had seen fifty years of service in the elephant army before being honourably retired as footwear!”

 

“You guys crack me up!” Scout said, suddenly braying with laughter. “So, you gonna open that bottle of twelve year old whatsit, Demo? Leaving party! Solly, you’re in, right?”

 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, son.”

 

“Long as you treat it with respect.” Demo said, more solemn than normal. “This isn’t any old gutrot.”

 

“It’ll still get us pissed, right?”

 

“Oh aye laddie, aye.”

 

“Who else is gonna join us?” Scout asked eagerly.

 

“Ah reckon I could try it, see if it measures up to a good bourbon.”

 

Demo snorted derisively. “You just wait, truckie. You’ll never go back to your Texan piss-water ever again.”

 

“M’gonna turn in for the night.” Sniper said quietly, putting his knife and fork down on his empty plate. “Gotta have a clear head for tomorrow’s drive.”

 

“I have many things to attend to before the morning.” Spy announced. He looked away from Medic with a dismissing sniff and tweaked the tips of his gloves and then straightened his tie.

 

“Comin’ with me in the mornin’, mate?”

 

“If you would have me, yes. I prefer to avoid the company of the badly hungover.” Spy replied with a nod.

 

“No worries.”

 

“Then I will bid you all a good night.” Spy gave a small, neat bow, and left the room.

 

“I better pack.” Medic stated. “Some information zhat may be of use to you: my Medigun can remove a hangover, but only if I intend to use it for zhat purpose. Und I don’t intend to do so. If you are ill tomorrow morning, you are on your own.”

 

“Eh, get that stick outta yer arse and come an’ drink with us.” Demo replied cheerfully. “It’ll do you good.”

 

“Nein danke. Ze offer is appreciated,” And for once, Heavy thought Medic didn’t sound sarcastic. Stiff, uncomfortable, yes, but not sarcastic. “But I have much to do. Gute Nacht.”

 

“I help you, Doktor.” Heavy repeated, following Medic as he left the room.

 

“Danke.” Medic murmured distractedly as he walked towards his quarters. A floorboard creaked loudly under their footfalls. There was a distant burst of laughter from the mess hall and the clink of a glass.

 

“Why do you not like Spy?”

 

“Do I have to _like_ everyone I vork vith?” Medic snapped.

 

“You hate him. Is not good for team.” Heavy said. _It’s not good for you, either._ He added to himself.

 

“I don’t hate him.” Medic replied stubbornly. There was a moment’s silence. “I don’t _trust_ him.”

 

“He is our Spy, not enemy Spy.” Heavy said gently.

 

“Ja, but...rrgghh!” Medic rubbed his forehead and adjusted his glasses. “I am _sick_ of Spies. Zhey always seem to favour me as a target. Often _after_ I have just healed zhem, or even used an Ubercharge on zhem. It is...” Medic’s voice dropped in volume to a hiss, “... _embarassing_.”

 

“Mmm.” Heavy covered his mouth hurriedly with a large hand.

 

“Are you laughing?” Medic demanded as they walked off down the corridor, their footsteps muffled on the splintery wood.

 

“Nyet.”

 

“You _are_ laughing. You zhink it is funny.”

 

“I do not think it is funny, doktor.”

 

“Zhen why are you laughing?!”

 

“I do not think it is funny. I think it is...” Heavy frowned, struggling for the word he wanted. “... _hilarious_.”

 

“So help me Heavy, if you do not _shut up_ right now I shall remove your spine and wrap it around your neck! It is _not funny._ ” The shorter man glared at him, but the sides of his mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled.

 

“Then why is doktor smiling?”

 

“Ach, du liebe Gott! You are impossible!”

 

Heavy just chuckled and patted his friend affectionately on the shoulder as they walked away.

 

**In Chapter Four: The RED team travel to their new base, and spend a little time on just the kind of hobby you'd expect a bunch of violent mercenaries to have...**

 

_Transations:_

_Ficken Sie : Fuck you_

_Wenn Sie auf unserer Seite sind... - If you are on our side..._

_Ach, du liebe Gott!- Oh, for the love of God!  
_

 

This chapter's fanart: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Three-Show-No-Fear-437268383>


	4. For The Birds

The transport vehicles that took the RED team to their new base had been shabby, dusty and bumpy. RED seemed to see nothing wrong with moving their insanely well-paid and valuable mercenaries in typical army troop trucks with bad suspension, no seatbelts and unpadded wooden slat seats. After only a few minutes of being thumped and bumped, Medic felt sure that he would be unable to sit down comfortably for the rest of the day. Scout, Soldier and Demo had turned up with the predictable hangovers and passed out in a companiable huddle in one corner of the van with Scout draped over the legs of the two older men. Medic had carefully checked that their chests were still rising and falling, and then gratefully ignored them, gripping tightly to the wooden slatting of the seat not to fall off. A particularly fierce bump had almost catapulted him out of the back of the open truck and after that, Heavy had put his arm around the smaller man and held him tightly. Medic had tried to pull away from the bigger man in embarrassment at this show of public affection, but he was held firmly and eventually fell into a light dose to the noise of Pyro playing with a lighter.

 

Click, shick...click, shick...click...shick, click...shick...

 

At some point, he had woken to the sound of Engineer, singing softly:

_“...Cause everybody's somebody's fool,_

_Everybody's somebody's plaything,_

_And there are no exceptions to the rule,_

_Yes, everybody's somebody's fool...”_

 

He had shifted to get comfortable again, scratched his nose idly, and went back to sleep and dreamt of ribonucleic acids forming long chains and chasing him down a stark white hospital corridor. In the nude. Except for his socks.

 

The bang of the truck door had woken him up with a start and they had all groaned, stretched and stumbled to their new home, picking rooms and dumping their heavy luggage and cases without bothering to unpack.

 

Sniper and Spy were already there, looking far more refreshed and alert than the dusty and battered mercs who had travelled in the truck, and Sniper kindly cooked them a decent meal of spaghetti and meatballs. He claimed Spy helped as well, but Medic doubted that, since Spy never did anything selfless for the sake of the team.

 

The meal was quiet for once, since everyone was too exhausted to pick a fight or even, God forbid, make decent and civil conversation. Medic enjoyed the quiet, for once, but Sniper seemed determined to get people talking.

 

“Y’know, there are some good views from this place. Land’s pretty different from where we’ve been before.”

 

“So I have seen.” Spy replied, poking idly at his food. The skinny Frenchman seemed completely incapable of eating any meal in under an hour. “And yet, it is still dusty and too hot.”

 

“Huh, this is better n’Cold Front, any day of the week.” Sniper said. “I hate the cold.”

 

“So, how many places have you guys served in?” Scout asked curiously.

 

“Too many.” Spy muttered, carefully picking apart a meatball and leaving a bit of it on one side of his plate.

 

“So, once we’re unpacked, who’s gonna join me on the roof?” Sniper asked brightly.

 

Medic looked up from inhaling his food and smiled. “Oh ja, I’ll come.”

 

“Da.” Heavy nodded.

 

“Hrr!” Pyro said with an eager nod.

 

“Wait, what’s on the roof? Why’re you guys going up there? You gonna spy on the BLUs or something?” Scout said.

 

“Not exactly.” Spy said with a smirk. “It is...an acquired taste. I doubt you would find it interesting. I fail to see the fascination myself.”

 

“I very much doubt you have zhe patience for it, Scout.” Medic commented with a grin. “It is a...common hobby ve all happen to share, except for Spy and Engineer.”

 

“It’s just not my kinda thing, sorry.” Engineer commented, waving a fork loaded down with spaghetti.

 

“Yeah? Well come on guys, don’t leave me inna cold, what do you all _do_ up there?” Scout asked.

 

Sniper told him.

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Scout replied flatly. “No...I mean...seriously??”

 

The group nodded.

 

“No frickin’ way!”

 

Later on, once the dinner had been cleared away, Spy and Engineer were put on dishwashing duty while the rest of the mercenaries took time out for some R&R, spending their time on just the sort of hobby one might expect a group of world-weary killers to enjoy. The group of REDs climbed onto the hot roof of their base just as the light was turning golden and the sun headed towards the horizon. The air was still but the sunlight was losing its heat in the late afternoon, and the light breeze felt pleasant and refreshing.

 

“Look, over there, by second branch of that tree.” Sniper said quietly, looking down the scope of his rifle.

 

“Hey guys, you still up there?” Scout’s voice drifted up the group on the rooftops.

 

“Haud ye wheesht!” Demo called back.

 

“Do what?”

 

“It means shut ya noise, wee laddie.”

 

“Buncha fuckin’ weirdos.”

 

“Scout can join us.” Heavy replied as quietly as he could. “Is interesting.”

 

“ _Birdwatching_? You’re kidding, right? You’re not all seriously up there watching birds. I keep tellin’ you guys, there’s no girls around here, quit looking. You’re just a buncha horny old pervs.”

 

“Over there, see? Savannah Sparrow.” Sniper said, ignoring his younger teammate and pointing to a tiny brown speck.

 

“Ja, I see it.” Medic replied, pointing his binoculars at the distant tree. “Vhat is its taxonomic name?”

 

“Easy, mate. _Passerculus sandwichensis_.”

 

“Danke.” Medic flipped open his journal and started writing industriously.

 

“I _like_ this name!” Heavy said with an amused chuckle.

 

“What the hell? You really _are_ looking at birds?”

 

“I can see a yellow one over here. Yellow and black. Any eagles here?” Soldier asked eagerly in his gravelly voice.

 

“Too far from the sea.” Demo replied, peering through his telescope. “Hey, there’s two of the little buggers! See? ‘Nother one, to the left.”

 

“You guys suck. I mean, really, you all suck on ice. Dontcha want to explore the new base?”

 

“Lerrrrrrl hrrrlww brrd.” Pyro pointed with his gloved hand.

 

“Ah, I see it. Tiny yellow bird, da.” Heavy held his chunky green binoculars in one large hand while he munched on a chocolate bar held in the other. “Is pretty.”

 

“I just _told_ you I saw it.” Soldier muttered bad temperedly, lowering his camouflaged binoculars.

 

“Let’s see.” Sniper muttered, swinging his rifle around. “Yeah, Western Meadowlark. Lots around here, so they say.”

 

“Latin name?” Medic asked.

 

“Uh...can’t remember, begins with an S.”

 

“Zhat’s no use!” The doctor replied. He swung his own small pair of binoculars around to look over the concrete roof of the BLU base, separated from their own by a moat of stagnant water covered by a rickety bridge.

 

“Why’d need the fancy names anyway?”

 

“To place zhem in zheir correct taxonomy of course.” He replied distractedly, looking over the shimmering concrete.

 

“Your birds travel alright, doc?”

 

“Oh, ja. Zhey need to stay in zheir cage until zhey get used to zhe new place. Galileo is trying to break out, of course. He tried to turn a feazher into a lockpick.”

 

“Ha! He is clever leetle bird.”

 

“You know what? I’m gonna find out where you all keep your girly mags and steal them.” Scout called from below. “I bet Sniper has ones about sheep!”

 

“That’s New Zealanders, ankle-biter. ‘M an Aussie.” Sniper replied calmly, stretching his long arms and cracking his neck before resettling. “Mine’re about kangaroos.”

 

“Dude, sick.” Scout stated. Sniper just chuckled quietly.

 

“Mine’re in my trunk, underneath my socks, laddie. Help yerself, but make sure ye return em’, an’ there better not be any stains!”

 

Medic saw a flash of blue in one of the windows of the enemy base and idly focused his lenses on it, ignoring the noisy youngster as best as he could. _Let’s have a look at our rivals then before we meet formally._

 

“You old guys are so booooring!”

 

Medic suddenly made an odd strangled noise and his binoculars dropped from his limp fingers. “Mein Gott.”

 

“Look! Over there. That’s an eagle.”

 

“That’s a _cloud_ , solly.” Sniper said tiredly.

 

“Like you’re an expert on meteorology, private.” Soldier snapped. “I bet you don’t even know the difference between cumulonimbus and cirrostratus! Well _DO YOU?!_ ”

 

“Mrr hrr.”

 

“Doktor? What did you see?” Heavy asked curiously.

 

“Nein! Nozhing!” Medic said, aware he had replied too loudly. _I could not have seen...not possible! I must...I must..._ “Zhat is, yes. I have somezhing of a headache. It must be zhe long, hot drive. I zhall go and rest for a bit.” He flipped his notebook closed hurriedly, trying to hide his shaking hands. Heavy’s brow furrowed in suspicion and he looked away guiltily as he stood and walked away.

 

“Wrrr wrsss hhhrd ahrrd?” He heard Pyro mutter as he took the stairs back down into the base.

 

“Don’t know mate, but you know the doc, good at his job, doesn’t always make sense.” Sniper replied, his voice getting quieter as Medic got farther out of easy earshot.

 

Medic ignored them both and headed swiftly for his infirmary, eager to make some plans. He had a feeling that life at Teufort was going to get far too interesting.

 

**In Chapter Five: Medic's thoughts on medical ethics, and we find out what he saw.**

This chapter's illustration: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Four-For-The-Birds-437270256>

Also, the awesome Yukyumee did a wonder fanart picture of the REDs birdwatching! <http://yukyumme.deviantart.com/art/You-Need-To-Get-A-Head-Birds-Observation-454576539>

(And yes, there really is a bird called Passerculus sandwichensis.)

 


	5. Pisum sativum In A Pod

“Mission begins in Fifteen minutes.” The disdainful Administrator’s voice rang out. The RED mercenaries waiting in the resupply room checked their equipment, loaded bullets, drank scrumpy or smoked a final cigarette (or in Spy’s case, the first of many).

 

Medic shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders, carefully untwisting a strap and checking the pressure gauge on the side tank. He then trained his medigun onto Heavy, letting it build up the first ubercharge of the day.

 

“Do all you ladies know what to do today?” Soldier barked.

 

“Explore base, find intelligence, bring it back.” Heavy stated.

 

“And don’t die.” Spy added, tapping the ash from his French cigarette. A uniquely spicy aroma filled the air, strong and acrid. Scout coughed slightly. “At least, not too often.”

 

“Anyone else ever think we have bloody weird lives?” Sniper asked.

 

“S’easier if y’ drink.” Demo mumbled.

 

“Frrr mrrkssh urrh hhhrrr ahudda.” Pyro said with a nod.

 

“It y’all find a good position for my machines, make sure you tell me.” Engineer said, idly tapping his wrench on his toolbox with a faint _tink_.

 

“Woah, really man? Needa dispenser heah! Need a dispensah heah! Need a dispenser heah! Ow, hey!” Engineer clipped Scout’s ear, but the young man just ran his hand through his blonde hair and grinned.

 

Medic only listened to all this banter with half an ear. His thoughts were on the battle ahead, and for once, he was nervous. Would _he_ be there? And if so, how could he get close enough to _him_ to talk without getting shot? What if _he_ saw Medic first? He tapped his foot impatiently. Too many variables! He hated uncertainty.

 

“Mission begins in five minutes.”

 

“Even though this is our first mission here, I want a victory.” Soldier said. “You maggots will give your best and get that intelligence from those BLU bastards or so help me I will have you all on latrine duty!”

 

“Oh, please.” Spy said, rolling his eyes in disgust and lighting a new cigarette from the stub end of his old one.

 

“You smoke too many of zhose.” Medic said, eyeing the Frenchman balefully.

 

“Oh, docteur, I never knew you cared.” Spy replied, pressing his long-fingered hand to his chest dramatically.

 

“I don’t. But I have to share zhe same air as you.”

 

“They help me concentrate.” Spy said, taking a long drag and blowing a perfect smoke ring at Medic.

 

“Schieße!” Medic blinked and coughed, but decided not to pick a fight for once. “Zhere is plenty of recent research zhat shows...”

 

“I betcha got filthy yellow fingers under those gloves.” Scout said teasingly.

 

“Whrrrr mrrr?” Pyro asked, his voice sounding slightly offended.

 

“He means nicotine stains, not, uh...” Engineer stumbled to a halt and pushed his hard hat up off his forehead. “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong...”

 

“Mission begins in one minute.”

 

“Best of luck, fellas.”

 

“We do not need luck, we have Sasha on our side!”

 

“Go out there and fight for America, you sons of bitches!”

 

The medigun started to crackle and shudder with its built-up charge in Medic’s hands.

 

“You sure that thing is safe?” Scout said, looking at the crackling device in the doctor’s hands.

 

“Probably.” Medic replied with an idle shrug. _If I find him, I have to invent some method to detain him for further study. He may even be willing once I explain the situation to him. Surely he will share my curiosity? Not that I need his consent..._

 

“Mission begins in thirty seconds.”

 

_After all, this is for the advancement of science. Those who worry about ethics too much lose their objectivity._

 

“Mission begins in ten seconds.”

 

_We must all be willing to make sacrifices. And if it’s other people who make the sacrifice, all the better._

 

“Five.”

 

“Four.”

 

“Three”

 

“Two.”

 

“One.”

 

Klaxons sounded and the day’s war started.

 

“SCREAMIN’ EAGLES!” Soldier howled, leaping out of the resupply room and running off down a corridor.

 

“We stay together as team.” Heavy stated, but Scout shot past him and leapt down a hole in the floor before the large man could even react.

 

“Too slow!” He called back, and then gave a braying laugh that echoed weirdly from wherever the young man had ended up.

 

“Right with ya, big fella.” Engineer said, picking up his toolbox.

 

Heavy, Demo, Engineer, Pyro and Medic ran out as a group into the rickety farm building that would form the backdrop of their own personal little war. Spy cloaked and vanished almost immediately, and Sniper stayed behind once he found a suitable balcony to shoot from.

 

Medic had no more time to consider anything other than tactics and threats. He had become so used to this by now that his ears picked up the sound of a distant explosion, and he knew it was the BLU Soldier rocket jumping, getting closer to them second by second without consciously thinking about it. He felt his mouth stretch into a grin. Now he got to make those decisions that made life as a Medic so exciting- if two people were on fire, which would he save? Should he retreat and let a teammate die, or follow them and press on into slaughter and carnage? Who was most valuable on the battlefield, at this very moment in the fight? And sometimes, he even had to decide if _he_ was expendable or not. Medic fought to _win_ , and if his death bought a few seconds, so be it. He’d be back.

 

Back in Stuttgart before the war, when they had lived in the big house with the willow trees and the dovecot, his parents had decided that he would be a doctor, and he had excelled at it- after a fashion. Anatomy had a strange beauty to it- the human form, with its exposed veins and nerves spreading like a road map, the lever and cantilevers of the musculature, the sheer _brilliance_ of its design took his breath away. Pathology was gruesome but astonishing, and the various pathogenic organisms were horrific, yet often remarkably clever in their ability to bypass or even subvert the immune system. Even the humble rhinovirus was a miracle. Just because something was not nice did not make it any less astonishing. He remembered once giving Scout one of his pathology books in an attempt to shut the young man up while he realigned his broken tibia.

 

_Oh my God, Doc, that’s disgusting, I’m gonna puke! Really, I’m gonna blow chunks, take it away. Hey get off, I wanna see the next page! Oh man, that is just GROSS! Why’d you own these books anyway, you sick creep?_

 

Anyone who claimed they weren’t horribly fascinated by the morbid world of disease was a filthy liar, in Medic’s opinion.

 

However, there was a problem with medicine: patients. Medic did not consider himself particularly lacking in compassion, but the woes of the sick, the dying or the convalescent wore him down. They wailed and moaned and sometimes it seemed that their suffering was a constant blue mist that sapped his soul, and worse, he was expected to have some sort of bedside manner to make them feel better with words.

 

Words never set a broken bone. Words never cured a raging infection. Words never cut out a tumour.

 

Perhaps it was not so surprising that he had gravitated towards trauma surgery, where speed was more important than sympathy and wounds had to be stitched and fractures splinted quickly, neatly and without fuss. In the crowded internment camp on the Isle of Man there had been many injuries and few distractions and Medic had spent him time reading everything related to medicine and biology he could get his hands on. Even his despised English guards sought him out from time to time, for his knowledge and expertise, and if it was someone Medic personally disliked, they might come out of the surgery a little...altered.

 

Knowledge is power. And Medic liked power.

 

As they charged into the open ground between the two bases as a group, Medic took position slightly behind everyone else with his medigun flicking between his four teammates. He saw a beam of blue light cut through the dusty air and opened his mouth to shout a warning- but it was too late. There was the echoing crack of a sniper rifle, and Heavy dropped to the floor, soon to be claimed by respawn. Medic winced at seeing his friend die even though he knew it wasn’t permanent. He still found it somewhat disturbing watching someone he cared about and admired suffer a violent death.

 

A rocket whined through the air over their head, and Medic saw the BLU Soldier and Pyro appear from the concrete buildings opposite. Smoking splinters of wood rained down upon the group as Engineer hung back. A metallic clanging noise signalled that he was building something.

 

“Charge me, Doc!” Demo cried, readying his grenade launcher.

 

“Jawohl!” Medic flipped the switch, and a red cocoon of invulnerability surrounded him and Demo as they charged across the bridge, Demo firing grenades with a regular poc-poc noise. The one-eyed man started laughing gleefully, spit flecking his beard.

 

“I’m goin’ ta blast ya into thin gruel!” He cried as the BLU Soldier exploded into red chunks. However, the BLU pyro had carefully backed off and avoided the spinning red bombs. A twisting blue rope of glowing light connected him to...

 

_Ah yes. There he is._

 

The BLU Pyro suddenly lit up with a glowing blue cocoon identical except in colour to the one surrounding him and Demo, and charged forward. Medic could hear the man’s muffled laughter as he advanced on the pair, and for a moment, Medic wondered what he thought he would achieve, before a violent gust of bitter-tasting air knocked him off his feet. His back slammed into the railing of the bridge and then he toppled over the edge into a pit of lukewarm, stinking water.

 

His legs prickled and tingled and refused to work, and he flailed desperately with his arms to try and get back to the surface and breathe. The pack on his back was heavy, though, and wanted take him down to rest in the fetid, unspeakable mud of the bottom of the pool.

 

_Oh. Death by drowning. So many chances for new experiences._

 

Bubbles forced themselves out of his mouth as he pushed his fingers into the mud, trying to push himself back into the light. Foul-tasting water filled his mouth but a pair of slender hands suddenly grabbed his arms and pulled him up to gag and splutter in the air.

 

“Medic?” Spy asked with a mild, professional concern. An arm clamped around his neck and pulled him up and into a pipe, where he sat and coughed until he saw stars. His back was blooming into a spiky, sharp agony and his legs were so deadened they might as well be missing.

 

“Warum, Spy?” He spluttered, but the masked man simply looked at him coolly with a carefully blank face.

 

“To prove you wrong, Docteur.” He replied before discarding his soggy cigarette and opening his case for a new one. He gave the doctor a little neat bow, and then cloaked again.

 

Medic simply sat in the curved pipe and panted for a while, waiting for the ambient vapours from his medigun to mend his broken spine. A sudden sharp pain shot straight up from his coccyx into his shoulders and his back made a disturbing creaking noise. He hissed and swore at the pain, but once it was gone, he realised he could move his legs again and he shakily got to his feet, holding the cold, slimy wall of the tunnel for support.

 

“Hey Doc, th’ fuck are ya doing here? Shouldn’t you be above with the other old dudes?” There was a splashing as Scout leapt delicately into the pipe. “Man, you look like death.” Scout’s eyes darted around warily and he guiltily approached Medic and patted him on the shoulder with the delicacy of a watchmaker setting a cog in place.

 

“Nein. I am...fine. Vhere are ve?”

 

“I found this wicked bad tunnel. Get this: it leads under the BLU’s base and right to the Intel! There’s this courtyard n’ shit at the other end, but how cool is that?”

 

“It certainly sounds useful, ja.”

 

“How ‘bout you follow me and we get that intel, eh?” Scout punched him on the shoulder and Medic gave him an offended and slightly hurt glare. “You and me, eh? We’re a team!”

 

“Vell, yes, I know.” He replied in puzzlement.

 

“C’mon Doc!” Scout briefly ran on the spot as hefted his medigun and then shot off down the pipe, the sound of his splashing feet disappearing into the distance.

 

“Dummkopf!” A large explosion directly overhead made the ground shake, and a few drips of water landed on his head. With poor offensive capability compared to the rest of the mercenaries, he was very vulnerable on his own, so he sighed and ran after Scout, hoping he might catch up or meet another RED at some point. He had to be fairly careful, though, for the pipe was lined with some namelessly vile sludge underneath the water, and very slippery.

 

There was a cry of pain he recognised as Scout’s followed by the sound of shotgun fire, and he tried to go a little faster without falling into the stinking mess under his feet. A cackling, hooting laugh answered, and Medic knew that voice. Oh yes. He broke into a sprint, syringe gun at the ready, and skidded around a corner into a small concrete bay set slightly higher than the sewer pipe. The water around his legs was swirling and red as he stepped over the decapitated body of Scout to look at the injured man lying against the wall. Scout had obviously lost the battle, but he had managed to mortally injure his attacker first. The BLU’s hand was clutched to a butchered, meaty mess of an abdomen and blood dribbled down his chin. His damp blue uniform had darkened to more of a lilac colour. However his blue eyes were still bright and lucid, and as he looked at Medic, his mouth dropped open in astonishment and his hand dropped its weapon with a clatter.

 

“Mein Gott!” BLU Medic gurgled, a trickle of blood running from his mouth as he talked.

 

RED Medic picked up his syringe gun and trained it warningly on his opposite number from the BLU team. He could entirely understand BLU Medic’s surprise- he had felt the same thing when he had seen him through his binoculars only yesterday.

 

He had seen many other Medics during his time with Reliable Excavation and Demolition. Some were taller or shorter, tanned or pale, thinner or fatter, or they had blonde or black hair or some different shade of brown. All German, all similar enough for him to be slightly suspicious. This BLU Medic though...

 

“Was sind Sie? Was?!” The injured man croaked, his voice rising in hysteria, fear and pain.

 

From his tightly fitted black boots to his tousled black hair, BLU Medic was his exact double. He saw that face every morning when he shaved in the mirror. Medic did not believe in coincidence, doppelgangers, or undiscovered identical twins. He did, however, believe in Occam’s Razor. Amazing coincidences did not happen outside of badly written novels and he was deeply suspicious of how this man could have come to exist. The final part of his elegant plan slotted into place in his head.

 

“Ich werde herausfinden. Können Sie mir helfen?” He asked the bleeding man.

 

“Wie?” BLU asked suspiciously. RED had already given some thought to this, and had come up with the perfect way to capture and restrain his counterpart. It was gruesome and unpleasant, but necessary, like so much of his job. After all, sacrifices had to be made. He got his Ubersaw from his belt and leant forward slowly. He paused, frowning thoughtfully for a moment with an unusual little thrill of guilt.

 

_Should I do this? Do I have the right? It will be horrible for the BLU Medic, after all._

 

However, he looked down at his own face as BLU coughed again and a stream of blood dribbled from his nose. _If he had found me injured, he would now be standing over me with the saw. I have to find out what is happening. I have to do this. For all of us._ He took a deep breath and grabbed at the fine, curly hair of the injured man. His arm swung down, and the man’s eyes widened and he struggled feebly.

 

“Nein, nein, NEIN! Schwein...” The voice cut off abruptly.

 

RED Medic held up the neatly severed head and watched the BLU’s eyes start to glaze over. He quickly flicked a dial on the medigun and pointed it at the head, letting out a tiny stream of gas. Enough to keep it alive, but not enough to heal. The head blinked and its eyes darted about in horror and shock. _If I used the medigun on its highest setting, I wonder if I could recreate an entire new person from a living body part? It would be interesting to try._

 

As he carefully tucked the silent but living and undoubtedly angry remains of the BLU Medic into his coat and headed swiftly back to his infirmary, a nasty thought occurred to him:

 

_Maybe someone already had._

 

**In Chapter Six: It's time to meet the BLU team, the Administrator and her mysterious accomplice...**

Image for this chapter: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Five-Pisum-sativum-in-a-Pod-437444829>

_Translations:_

_Warum - Why_

_Was sind Sie? Was?! - What are you? What?!_

_Ich werde herausfinden. Können Sie mir helfen? - I intend to find out. Can you help me?  
_

_Wie? - How?_


	6. Deus Ex Machina

Knowledge was power. And Helen liked power.

 

Helen knew that most dreadful thing that any sane woman or man would fear: the truth. She, along with ten other people in the entire world, knew the real reason why the gravel wars were being fought. It was a stupid, hilarious and pathetic war fought with her toy soldiers, but without them, the idiot Mann brothers would drag the world into a endless battle that would leave nothing but ash, glass and scorched bones in its wake.

 

Some would call her evil, but what she did was necessary. Sometimes, the only effective surgeon was a madman with a saw; sometimes, the best team builder was a selfish narcissist; sometimes, the only peacekeeper was a power-hungry megalomaniac. She flicked a switch with a long, curved nail.

 

“You’ve failed.” She said disdainfully into the microphone, putting as much disgust as she could into her voice. It wasn’t actually that surprising- the RED team at Teufort were new there and still exploring the layout of the battlements. However, it was important to keep them in the right frame of mind. Sympathy could affect their performance, so it was just as well she didn’t feel any.

 

There was a soft cough behind her, and she crossed her long legs and idly tapped the ash off her cigarette.

 

“You’re hovering, Miss Pauling.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ve found out about a...situation...at Teufort.”

 

The Administrator swung around on her high-backed chair to face the young woman. She was slight, and rather dowdy in her shapeless violet shirt and slacks. Her eyes hid behind winged spectacles and she carried a clipboard like a shield. Helen had often pondered her assistant’s choice of attire; she looked like a typical harried secretary in a typing pool, but Helen knew that this woman could accurately aim an impressive number of firearms and kill without compunction or guilt when she had to. However, it seemed she preferred to wield a clipboard rather than an ammo clip, and liked correction fluid more than blood. Perhaps she realised that true power lay in paper, not lead?

 

She was an excellent employee, in fact, and Helen was more fond of her than she cared to admit.

 

“Explain.” She said, her cigarette making idle trails of smoke in the still air.

 

“It seems a mistake’s been made.” Miss Pauling said, nervously, holding her beloved clipboard close to her chest. “Regarding assignment of the mercenaries to bases. The standing order never to assign mercenaries with the same numerical designator to the same base, because...”

 

“Yes I know.” The Administrator interrupted. She rubbed her brow irritably. “Let me guess: we have two running about, creating havoc in Teufort? I suppose we have to terminate the whole wretched hive now.”

 

“Not as such. If I may, Ma’am?” Miss Pauling gestured at the control board, and Helen nodded and let her assistant flip switches on the security cameras until she bought up a particular scene. She felt her eyes widen and the cigarette dropped from her hand onto the hard grey floor.

 

“That is... _diabolical_ ,” She said in blank astonishment, “And very, very clever. What kind of mind would think up such a thing?”

 

“A Medic’s.” Miss Pauling said with a nod. “Or possibly an Engineer’s.”

 

“No...” Helen drawled thoughtfully. “Engineers have _morals_. Do the others on the base know about it?”

 

“No, none of them, BLU or RED. He used a grenade to, um, conceal the evidence.” Miss Pauling replied. “That’s why I didn’t order the base wipe protocol we’ve used in the past. It seems the RED Medic wanted this kept secret, and I thought we might get some interesting results from it.”

 

“Entirely correct as always, Miss Pauling.” Helen reached for another cigarette. “For now, let’s monitor the situation.”

 

“Yes Ma’am.” The young woman bobbed respectfully and made to leave.

 

“Miss Pauling?”

 

“Yes Ma’am?”

 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow. Take the day off. You will find a strawberry cream cake waiting on your desk for you. Your favourite, I believe.”

 

The young woman turned and gave Helen a fleeting warm smile. “Thanks, Mum.” She turned and left the room, her shoes clacking on the hard floor.

 

Helen sat for a moment and then sniffed suspiciously. Her years of chain smoking had dulled her sense of smell a bit, but she recognised that bitter, spicy scent that filled the air now.

 

“I know you’re there.” She stated. “If you wish to hide, you need to stop smoking those stinking Gitanes.”

 

“Madame.”

 

“I presume you heard the conversation?”

 

“Bien sûr. You wish me to intervene?”

 

“Not yet.” Helen said thoughtfully. “But monitor them. I will do what I can to...stall them. Take whatever action you consider necessary, but please remember that I dislike unnecessary damage to company property. Especially _valuable_ property.”

 

“They are people, not property.” The voice replied with a slightly rebuking edge.

 

The Administrator gave a sour snort. “That could be debated. You’ve been spending too much time among them. Remember your job. Remember what they _are_ , and more importantly, what they are _not_.”

 

“I know, Madame,” The voice replied sadly, “I remember.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The living quarters of the BLU base, with its minimalist lines built of clean and sturdy concrete were the height of architectural fashion, but the BLU team sometimes looked over wistfully at the splintery wooden barns of the RED base. Yes, BLU had all the newest inventions, such as the latest front-loading washing machine, a colour TV, and even a temperamental dish washer that carefully laminated a diamond-hard layer of cooked food onto any plate put in it, but the base was hard and the floor cold even under the cheap and prickly dull green tiles BLU had begrudgingly carpeted their living area with. Even the lights in the RED base seemed nicer- a warm yellow glow instead of a harsh bright white like theirs.

 

Tonight, though, the team were very glad to be BLU. All except one member, at least, but he was busy elsewhere.

 

“Those sorry sacks of shit didn’t know what hit them!” BLU Soldier said gleefully, raising his half-empty beer bottle. “And Scout- good work, son. Damn fine work.”

 

“I was bookin’ out there, you know it!” BLU Scout said enthusiastically, punching Soldier companionably on the arm. “We got all the Intel. Every fuckin’ case today! Those REDs suck.”

 

“Did ye see me blowin’ up the Engineer’s nest? Who builds a sentry there? Stupid wee toymaker!” Demo said with a gargling drunk laugh.

 

“They were just inexperienced and don’t know the area well. They’ll get better.” Pyro said, but as usual, he just got blank looks from everyone in the rec room. _Ugh, why do I bother?_ The small room full of people was making him irritable.

 

“I would advise against hubris, my friends.” Spy commented, waving his cigarette around for emphasis. He looked sideways and gave Pyro a sly wink. “This is their first battle and they _will_ improve.”

 

“I agree.” Heavy said, his voice deep and rumbling. Even though they had just finished dinner, the huge man was holding a surprisingly dainty-looking sandwich. It even had an olive on a cocktail stick pinning it together and stopping it falling to bits as that strong jaw took a massive bite. “Today they were leetle babies, but they will become men.”

 

“That’s what I just said!” Pyro nodded in frustration. He sighed and went back to flicking his lighter and ignoring the conversation around him. The little fire leapt and danced and made him feel calmer. He had tried adding manganese crystals to the lighter fluid this time, and the flame was streaked with a beautiful bright purple. He flicked it again and breathed out in relief.

 

Being crammed into these barren, hard barracks with this many people was a kind of purgatory for him and it often made him feel trapped and even panicky. The fire helped. It was always there, warming and cleansing. There was a burst of boisterous laughter and he winced. Maybe he should just give up again and go back to his empty room with its filtered air and plastic-covered bed, where he could strip off his suit and give his tortured lungs some rest. He would never make friends here. At least there were others who seemed to share his difficulty with people; Sniper, for instance, and Medic. Maybe Heavy, in some ways. Those three had this slightly sad air about them of someone who had given up on ever fitting in. Right now everything looked normal and solid, but when Pyro had one of his flashbacks, he could see it surround them like a foggy grey aura of defeat.

 

Pyro often wished he was like Engineer, and good with people in that relaxed effortless way. Engineer glowed gold from within and little tendrils of light flicked off him and lit up those around him. Spy was nice, too- sometimes his aura flashed into a bright jade green with blue sparks. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Spy understood him with the mask on. Spy was kind.

 

There was a sudden cry of surprise and Pyro looked up from his flames.

 

“Holy _shit_ , dude, you’re bleeding all over everywhere!” Scout said, leaping to his feet in surprise. “What the fuck happened?”

 

“Stupidest thing, mate.” Sniper said, holding his left palm sheepishly. Blood dripped through his fingers and spattered onto the cheap carpet. “I was sharpening my kukri and my bloody hand slipped. Cut straight through me own palm.”

 

“Looks like y’need the doc there.” Engineer said, standing up to look at Sniper in concern.

 

“That’s just the thing. I went to the infirmary, but Medic’s buggered off. Can’t find ‘im anywhere.”

 

Soldier suddenly stood up and cracked his knuckles. “Bring me a first aid kit, boiling water, clean towels and a shot of whiskey. Pyro, we’re gonna need a hot flame, blue hot. Well, what’re you all staring at, maggots? MOVE!”

 

“Er, not that this isn’t good of you, Solly, but maybe I’d better wait until we find Medic...” Sniper said, backing away.

 

“Do you want to bleed out or get it infected? Well DO YOU?” Soldier glared at the lanky Australian from under his helmet.

 

“It does look bad.” Pyro said. “If Soldier knows first aid, he could stitch it now and then Medic can sort it out when we find him.”

 

“I say let Soldier have his fun.” Spy said idly, not even looking at Pyro. He gestured with his cigarette. “The cackling German can fix the mess he makes once we find him. I would say this qualifies as an emergency. Scout, can you see if you can find Medic?”

 

“On it!” The skinny man leapt up and shot out of the room, already at full speed as he hit the corridor.

 

“Now hand me that scrumpy.” Soldier grabbed Sniper’s hand firmly and flicked his palm out demandingly to Demo.

 

“Whaaat? Yer not havin’ my gutrot!”

 

“Son, hand it over.” Engineer said sternly. “Ah’m sure we can get you some more soon enough. A man’s life is at stake.”

 

“Me life? Come off it, it’s just a cut.”

 

Demo grumbled but handed over the brown bottle. Soldier poured a small amount over his own hands and rubbed them together, making the room smell of fermented apples.

 

“What’re doing with me best scrumpy?!” Demo moaned. “Ahhh, I cannae watch.”

 

“It’s only a little cut.” Sniper protested feebly. Soldier roughly unfolded the man’s palm. “Ow, wotch it, wanker!”

 

A while later, Pyro watched Soldier working in fascination. Sniper had cussed the air blue when Soldier poured that alcohol onto the wound, but after that he had done nothing more than wince and gasp occasionally as the flame-sterilised needle pierced his flesh.

 

“Well, Solly, yer full of surprises, I can say that much.” Engineer said, shaking his head in amazement.

 

“How did you learn that?” Pyro asked.

 

“We did not realise you had so many skills.” Spy remarked. “Where did you learn first aid?”

 

“Guys.” A voice said quietly from the door. Pyro barely noticed it, and it seemed nobody else did either.

 

“Field surgery, Private.” Soldier said with a nod, tying a knot with his thick and callused fingers. “Every good soldier should know some.”

 

“Hurts like hell, but I admit, y’did a good job mate.” Sniper said, wiping his pale, clammy forehead with his unhurt hand.

 

“We gotta problem, guys. We’re in a fuckton o’trouble here.”

 

“Hold this pad in place.” Soldier ordered, slapping a piece of thick white cotton roughly onto the assassin’s hand. Sniper winced and hissed.

 

“Easy!” Sniper said in protest.

 

“Guys?” Scout said quietly again. His voice was almost unrecognisable- soft and dismayed.

 

“Don’t be such a girl, Sniper.” Soldier said, getting out a role of surgical tape.

 

“Guys, dammit, listen to me!” Scout shouted suddenly, his voice wavering with emotion. “It’s the doc.”

 

“You found him? About time he turned up, I haven’t seen him since this morning. He has let the team down badly. I’m gonna make him give me twenty!” Soldier ripped the tape with his teeth and started fastening the pad to Sniper’s hand.

 

“Yeah, I found ‘im.” Scout replied, his voice quiet again.

 

“What’s the matter, Scout?” Engineer asked in concern. “Somethin’ wrong with th’ doc?”

 

“Yeah, there...well, I found this.” Scout held out a blackened branch. It had a slightly rancid sweet smell, and branched into five small crooked limbs at one end. Pyro heard Demo gasp quietly, and then realised why: there were little bits of scorched rubber attached to the stick. An arm. It was an arm in a blue rubber glove. Pyro felt sick. “There were other, uh, bits too. Seems he got hit with a grenade. Somethin’ explosive, anyway. And he didn’t respawn.”

 

The group just stared at the grisly remnant for a moment. There was nothing that could be said. This went beyond curses and swearing. For the BLU team, their one certainty in this chaotic life had just collapsed into brittle grey dust.

 

Respawn had failed, and one of their number was dead. They were suddenly mortal again, and vulnerable.

 

The moment passed, and everyone started shouting at once.

**In Chapter Seven: We get to see RED Medic's diabolic plans, and BLU Medic has a generally bad day.**

This chapter's artwork: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Six-Deus-Ex-Machina-438154861>


	7. Gemini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Some seriously bad language in this chapter, mostly in German.

“Stop staring at me.” RED Medic said, wagging a finger admonishingly. “I know zhis is unpleasant, but surely you see it is in your best interests to cooperate.”

 

The living remnant of his BLU counterpart was sat on a stained towel on a gurney and made a tutting noise, one of the few noises he could make without functioning lungs. A wisp of red energy connected the head to the large stationary medigun suspended from the ceiling of the infirmary and kept it alive. Medic had not had a chance to get any further with his plans the day before, since Soldier had spent the evening first yelling at anybody he could find about their humiliating defeat, and then poking into every corner looking for a hand grenade he claimed he had lost. Medic had ended up locking the head and his medigun in the drugs cabinet to stop Soldier finding it. No doubt it had been a very dull few hours for the BLU Medic. Once Soldier had finally turned in for the night- he liked to go to bed early, thankfully- Medic had returned to his infirmary, his hands shaking with excitement.

 

“Coo!” There was a sudden fluttering of wings, and Galileo landed on the desk next to the irate BLU. The white dove pecked at his round glasses, pulling them off one of his ears and making them slide lopsidedly down his nose. “Coo?”

 

“Ah, he likes you!” RED said with a fond smile. “BLU, meet Galileo. Galileo, meet BLU. He vill be staying vizh us for a bit.” He carefully leant down and popped the skewed glasses back into place, while the head glared murderously at him. Galileo hopped onto his head and started rearranging his curly hair.

 

“Now, I have somezhing for you. I found some records of a BLU Spy being captured by one of my colleagues at Badwater Basin. He invented zhis fascinating device zhat I found quite easy to replicate and improve.” RED held up a metal collar with various wires, tubes, an air cylinder and a small battery attached. “Zhis might sting a little.”

 

Shooing the dove out of the way, he picked the head up by its hair and carefully seated it on the metal collar. BLU made a tutting noise again and then gave a tiny squeak as six tiny crocodile clips extended from the circle of metal and grabbed hold of the soft skin on his neck. RED watched in satisfaction as a red tube snaked out of the metal as if alive and embedded itself snugly in the BLU’s carotid artery. A similar blue tube nudged into the angle of the neck just behind it, searching for the jugular vein. BLU made a soft whining noise as the same thing happened on the other side and then his bloodshot eyes widened in surprise, and he suddenly gasped and opened his mouth.

 

“SIE HURENSOHN! SCHWEINHUND! FICKEN SIE! LASSEN SIE MICH GEHEN, ARSCHLOCH! JETZ! JETZ, SCHEISSEKOPF! SIE SIND VERRÜCKT!”

 

“Language!” RED said with a disapproving shake of his head, but the furious man had not finished yet.

 

“TÖTE MICH!” He screamed hoarsely, his voice cracking with hysteria, his long face going red and his eyes bugging out of their sockets. Galileo took off and fluttered over to the gurney’s pillows to watch warily.

 

“Später.” RED replied calmly. He did feel somewhat sorry for the head in front of him- if it had been _him_ , he would have been furious, too. “Zhe sooner you cooperate, zhe sooner I can get back to zhe normal business of killing BLUs, ja? Now, how do you feel?”

 

“Rgggh...” BLU muttered. “You vant to know how I _feel_? How do you _zhink_ I feel?” The man’s voice started to rise into a despairing shriek again.

 

“Any dizziness? Discomfort? Headache?” RED asked. He paused thoughtfully. “I suppose nausea is not truly possible vithout an intact alimentary canal.”

 

“ _Headache._ ” BLU growled. “Ach, du liebe Gott!” Galileo had crept closer again and started to preen a strand of fine hair soothingly. Another white dove fluttered down and landed on the head with a coo.

 

“You _do_ have a headache?”

 

“Verpissen Sie!” BLU spat furiously. Galileo bit his ear and he winced.

 

“Zhat will get you nowhere.” RED said admonishingly. “Zhere is no need for you to be in any avoidable discomfort. Once I am convinced you are stable, I can tell you vhat my plans are. Zhey vill be to your benefit as vell, and vill not involve anyzhing painful or unpleasant.” Just briefly, RED saw the head’s eyes widen with a flash of interest before returning to a disgruntled frown. Here, at least, was someone whose emotions he could read like a book. _He will come around, sooner or later. He wants to know the truth just as much as I do._

 

“My neck. Is sore.” BLU said abruptly in a more normal voice, albeit still slightly hoarse.

 

“Zhat is easily solved.” RED replied. He opened a small drawer on the metal collar and popped a half a white tablet into it. “Acetylsalicylic acid. Obviously you can’t take medicine orally right now. Dosage adjusted for, heh, body veight.”

 

“You cut off my head and give me aspirin to make me feel better.” BLU muttered.

 

“Ah, sarcasm! A good sign. So, are you ready to talk?”

 

“Und if I am not? Vill you shine a bright light in my eyes and get out zhe red hot pokers?” BLU replied witheringly. “It von’t vork, I have a very high pain zhreshold.” A third dove arrived and started preening the other side of the head. BLU twitched his head, trying to shoo them away.

 

“Of course not, vhat do you take me for, some vile torturer?” RED said in disgust.

 

“I see little to dizprove my hypothesis.” BLU sniffed disapprovingly.

 

“Look, zhis is for _science_.” RED said. “Science is not alvays friendly und nice.”

 

“I know zhat!” BLU snapped irritably. “But it seems I’m on zhe wrong side of zhis experiment.”

 

“Vell...” He paused thoughtfully. RED couldn’t blame him for his bad temper. The man was undoubtedly having a bad day. “Let _me_ talk, zhen, and you can listen. Zhe first day ve arrived at zhis base, ve took some time to go birdvatching. It is somezhing of a RED tradition.”

 

“Did you see zhe flock of _Anthus spragueii_? Ve are on zhe migration route.”

 

“Really? I zhought ve vere too far south for zhat. I expected to see zhem come Vinter.”

 

“A few overvinter here, but ve get migratory flocks too.”

 

“How fascinating! I zhall have to record...” RED stopped, noticing BLU smirking slightly. “Oh ja, very clever. Vhere vas I? Yes, Ve vere birdvatching vhen I happened to look over at zhe BLU base, and I saw _you_ zhrough a vindow.” RED sat down and thoughtfully propped his chin on his hand. “Ve look identical. Far too similar for it be to a mere coincidence or genetic chance.” RED paused, waiting to see if BLU would comment. The man looked like he was about to speak, but stayed silent.

 

“I have had a suspicion for some time, zhat someone, somevhere, has been meddling vith cloning technology. If respawn exists, vhy not cloning?” RED saw BLU nod slightly in unconscious agreement, but he stayed stubbornly silent. “Or perhaps zhat is not zhe vord. _Doubling_. Zhey doubled us, Two Medics, equal and original.”

 

“I am zhe original, zhen.” BLU finally spoke up. “I can remember everyzhing zhat happened before I joined BLU. _You_ are just an inferior copy.”

 

RED just shrugged. “Zhey altered your memory, zhen. Perhaps ve should check if ve remember zhe same zhings?”

 

Galileo chose that moment to tug hard on BLU’s hair, and the head’s eyes widened in surprise briefly before settling back into a bad-tempered frown. “I presume zhis is some clever interrogation technique to get me to tell you all of BLU’s secrets. You expect me to tell you all about my history, and how I joined zhem. I vill not talk.”

 

“Galileo, Pasteur and Kepler like you.” RED said thoughtfully. “It’s like zhey know you. Also, most people would react a lot more negatively to a bird on zheir head. Galileo is a very intelligent, affectionate bird. He likes landing on people. It makes zhem flinch, normally- unless zhey have owned birds zhemselves.”

 

“Cooo.” Galileo cried, nibbling BLU’s ear affectionately. The head blinked.

 

“I can only tell you my name, rank and serial number. Vell, actually not my name. Zhat is against regulations.”

 

“I already know your rank, and I _zhink_ I know your name. Go on zhen, tell me your serial number.”

 

“BLM029/c.” BLU stated flatly.

 

“Ohhh now zhat is interesting!” RED said, leaping to his feet and pacing in excitement, his hands tucked behind his back. “I am REM029/b.”

 

BLU finally looked intrigued. “Presumably, the RE refers to RED, M to Medic. The number...zhat is a strange coincidence.”

 

“And ve look the same. Zhat’s _also_ a strange coincidence. Agreed?”

 

“Agreed.” BLU said grudgingly.

 

“So, vill you...Galileo, no!” RED waved his hand at the dove that was trying to remove one of the tubes from BLU’s neck. He gave BLU an apologetic grin. “Birds! Galileo is a little... unusual. He got into my Australium supplies vonce. I’m not sure how much of it he ate, but now he zhinks he’s a doctor.”

 

BLU craned his neck, trying to yank it as far away from the curious dove as possible. All that he succeeded in doing, though, was falling over. Galileo nibbled hopefully at his glasses.

 

“Gottverdammt.” BLU announced to the bloodstained towel. Two hands picked him up, delicately straightened his glasses and then shoo’d the dove away.

 

“Hey Doc, you in there?”

 

“Gottverdammt!” RED hissed. “Now be _silent_.” He picked up the head and shoved it hurredly into the drugs cabinet before striding to the doorway and unlocking the white double doors.

 

“Everyzhing alright, Engie?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine an’ dandy. I’ve just got a li’l short on insulin, so I thought I’d drop by for a top-up.”

 

Medic breathed a sigh of relief that insulin had to be refrigerated rather than kept with the regular drugs, and walked over to the fridge. He opened the door, and frowned.

 

“Problem, Doc?”

 

“Zhere is a sandvich in my fridge. And beer. There is _beer_ in zhis fridge!” He sighed. “I keep telling Heavy he vill contaminate my vials if he does zhat. If I find any urine samples testing positive for mayonnaise, ve shall all know vhy.”

 

“He gave me one in the fight today.” Engineer said with a grimace. “Think I’ll go hungry in future.”

 

“Zhat is a very _bad_ idea, you know zhat.” Medic found the neatly labelled box of insulin, and passed it over. “Zhis is the last of my supplies. I’ll order you some more.” Galileo flew past, and Medic tried to ignore him as he landed on the floor, and waddled over to peck at the drugs cabinet. His beak made a metallic _plink_ noise. Medic tried to make shooing motions with his hands without Engineer noticing.

 

“So, what about this news, eh?” Engineer said, opening the box and taking out one of the tiny glass vials. He reached into the bag he was carrying and got out a plastic packet containing a syringe. Ripping the packet open, plunged the needle into the rubber top of the vial, and started to fill the syringe.

 

“News?” There was an annoyed squawk, and Medic stood up with an angry bird in his hands.

 

“You’ve not heard? Whooo-eee Doc, it’s all over the base! One of the BLUs _died_ in the battle today. Yer actual, genuine death. You seen the BLU base this evenin’? Lit up like a Christmas tree, it is. Seems them fellas are panickin’, and I don’t blame ‘em one bit.” Engineer held the syringe up to the light measuringly.

 

_It worked! I fooled them! They won’t be looking for him at all!_ He grinned in triumph, but quickly forced his expression to look horrified when Engineer glanced his way. “Zhat’s not possible!” He made himself gasp.

 

“Seems respawn failed. BLU have asked for a ceasefire until they can get it all workin’ again.” Engineer shuddered, and then flicked the syringe with a practised hand. He switched it to his other hand and carefully swabbed his left arm with a cotton ball. “It’s a bad business, sure enough.”

 

Medic was silent for a moment while he tried to figure out what the most innocent response would be. “Do ve know vhich BLU it was?” He asked finally. Galileo struggled free from his fingers and flew off to perch on a light fitting and glare disdainfully at them.

 

“They’re not sayin’, which tells us who it is for sure.” Engineer flexed the fingers and jabbed the needle into the crook of his arm with a slight wince.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“C’mon, Doc, you’re a smart guy. They tell us who it is, we know their weaknesses, right?” He pushed the plunger down slowly and looked Medic straight in the eye. “So, if they don’t want us to know, it’s someone who without they’ll be _much_ weaker. If it was, say, their Scout, they’d have problems but still a good chance o’ winning. Same if it was their Engineer, Sniper or Spy. Where’s the sharps bin in this place?”

 

“You sell yourself short, my friend.” Medic said sternly. He pointed to a corner of the infirmary. “Over zhere, zhe red one.”

 

“Huh, the one at Dustbowl was yellow. Mighty kind of you to say so, Doc, but you know who the team’d miss most, don’tcha?”

 

Medic shook his head and put on a blank face.

 

“The Medic _._ ” Engineer said, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “Now see here, their respawn system is kinda tied in to ours. There are backups and failsafes but they use the same data stream and power sources and...well, I’m getting technical now so I better stop. They say it’s just how it works, but I reckon they’re making sure no one gets it into their heads to try and disable the enemy’s respawn. It’s a kind of blackmail, you could say. Mutually assured destruction and all that. Look after yourself, Doc. Don’t take no unnecessary risks, y’hear?”

 

“You zhink I can’t respawn too.” Medic stated. He saw a white flash out of the corner of his eye. Galileo was investigating the cabinet again.

 

“Seems possible. Thought you better be aware.” Engineer said. A tiny bead of blood formed on his arm and he rubbed it idly. He shrugged suddenly. “Let’s hope it gets sorted soon. We’ve got a few days holiday, but I can’t say this don’t make me pretty jumpy.”

 

Medic frowned for a moment as he sorted out the Texan’s double negative. “Ja. I’m sure ve vill have plenty to do in the meantime.”

 

“Try not to worry about it too much, won’t ya?”

 

Medic put on a brave smile. “I von’t...I mean, I vill try.”

 

“There but for the grace of God, go I.” Engineer said thoughtfully. “Bad business. Night, Doc. Hope you get some sleep.”

 

“You too, Engie.”

 

The infirmary fell silent and Medic stood thoughtfully for a few moments. Galileo suddenly flew and scrabbled at the drugs cabinet. He looked back and gave Medic a beseeching look. The dove had obviously decided he had a new friend- one that was human, but not as stupidly big as Medic and the others were.

 

“Ja, ja, I vill get him out again.” He grabbed the key, and then froze as he realised something worrying: BLU Medic would have heard Engineer’s news as well.

 

He wouldn’t be happy about it.

 

**In Chapter Eight: Medic muses on the nature of friendship, and we find out about Heavy's secret hobby.**

 

This Chapter's artwork: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Seven-Gemini-438997604>

 

Translations:

SIE HURENSOHN! SCHWEINHUND! FICKEN SIE! LASSEN SIE MICH GEHEN, ARSCHLOCH! JETZ! JETZ, SCHEISSEKOPF! SIE SIND VERRÜCKT! - You son-of-a-bitch! Pig-dog! Fuck you! Let me go, arsehole! Now! Now, shithead! You're crazy!

TÖTE MICH! - Kill me!

Später- Later.

Ach, du liebe Gott! - Oh for the love of God!

Verpissen Sie! - Fuck you! (sort of..not really possible to translate this 100% accurately)

 


	8. Just Act Naturally

The door closed and Medic waited for a few minutes, and then locked the door and opened the cabinet again. The BLU Medic looked up at him, his eyes reddened and his face pale. RED carefully lifted him out and placed him on his desk. Galileo cooed with pleasure and hopped up to the head and rubbed his little feathered cheek against him.

 

“Sie...Sie...” He stammered.

 

“I presume you heard all zhat?” RED shrugged. “I couldn’t have zhem coming and rescuing you.”

 

“Zhey zhink I’m dead.” He murmured. “All gone.”

 

RED sat down and looked at the head thoughtfully. He flexed his fingers, feeling this odd need to apologise and explain. “It was necessary. Sacrifices have to be made. You understand zhat, surely?”

 

“Necessary...” BLU muttered, trailing into silence.

 

“Vill zhey miss you?”

 

“Of course. Vithout a Medic, Zhey will be at a disadvantage on zhe battlefield.” BLU suddenly gave a crackling bark of a laugh. “Until zhey replace me.”

 

“Nein, I mean _you_ , not a Medic. Friends. Zhose who company you enjoy off the battlefield.”

 

“Vell...zhere is Engineer.” BLU said hesitantly. “Ve talk sometimes, about recent technological advances.”

 

“Zhat’s all? No one else? How long have you vorked for BLU?”

 

“Six monzhs.”

 

“Half a year and you have made no friends?” RED said with astonishment. He cleared his throat. “Not even zhe BLU Heavy?”

 

“I vas late joining zhe team, zhey already had formed a complete social network. I am... _vas_ zhe newcomer.” BLU blinked and sighed before continuing. “You mentioned Heavy? Zhat great oaf? He never stops pestering me. I vish he’d just leave me alone.”

 

RED took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Speaking to BLU was like talking to himself a couple of years ago (which, in itself, begged a question). He had never been very good at making friends, either. He would talk to people about interesting things, and they would listen politely and then try to avoid him in future. The embarrassed silences, the blank faces, and worse, the muffled laughter, he knew them all so well. Occasionally, someone well-meaning would give him some unwanted advice: Just be yourself, smile more, ask people about themselves, _just act naturally_. That was about the most insulting ‘helpful’ advice there ever had been! What they actually _meant_ was: Be someone else, you are miserable company, you are selfish, _you are unnatural_. He had decided, long ago: to hell with them all. It was better to be alone on your own than alone in a group that despised you.

 

Heavy, though, had apparently decided that was not good enough. For whatever reason, the large man had chosen to pursue a friendship with the reluctant doctor. Medic had found it baffling and suspicious- what was this man doing? Was he planning some humiliation? He had been politely cold, bordering on rude at times, but the weapons expert refused to give up. Medic had decided that the man was surely too stupid to have come up with some complex joke to make fun of him, and theorised that he was, truly, trying to be friendly. Well, he had decided, he could continue trying in vain. Medic had no need of friends. All past attempts he had made at friendship had ended up painfully confirming that he was a hopeless case, anyway. Perhaps there it would have ended, with Heavy finally giving up and leaving Medic to his comfortably bleak solitude, if he hadn’t found the piece of paper. It had slipped out of Heavy’s pocket when he had been walking down one of the corridors of Cold Front. Medic was far too curious a person not to pick it up (Heavy later joked that he was so nosy should have been a Spy...Medic had _not_ been amused), and then he read it. It was written in English, in Heavy’s careful round handwriting. The simple words somehow cut through his soul, his opinion of the weapons expert improved by a mere few magnitudes of power and, most importantly, they piqued his interest.

 

It had taken him a few days to summon up the courage to give it back to the Russian, and he had decided to take the simplest approach when they had a moment alone in the mess room.

 

“I found zhis the other day.” He had said, getting the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “I zhink you may have dropped it.”

 

Heavy took it, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. As he saw it, he took a deep breath and then folded it neatly and put it back in his pocket. “Spasiba.”

 

“I didn’t know you had an interest in poetry.” Medic remarked. “It is not somezhing I know much about. I can see vhy you liked zhat short piece of verse, zhough. It...” He paused, struggling with the unfamiliar world of literary critique. “...vas powerful. ‘It spoke to me’, is zhe correct phrase, I believe. Who wrote it?”

 

“I did.” He replied simply.

 

For a moment, Medic smiled and was about to laugh, but then he noticed Heavy looking at him with a steady defiance. He stuggled for something to say that would not make the large man punch him in the face. “I’m not much of a judge, but...I zhink you have quite zhe gift.”

 

Heavy took the piece of paper out of his pocket again, smoothed it flat and placed it on the table. He frowned at it for a moment, and added two tiny extra words.

 

“I like reading, and it is good way to get better at foreign language. It is easier to write than speak. It gives me time to get it right. I always forget leetle pointless word. There, I put it in and it sounds better.”

 

Medic read it again:

 

_Broken Angel,_

_Searching for a soul,_

_What will you do when your world burns down?_

_Your chains are shattered,_

_Yet to them you cling,_

_Tortured by hope in the blood-red night._

 

“Ja, I zhink that vorks. The ‘little pointless vord’ is called an article, by zhe vay. Be glad you don’t have to learn German, ve have six different vays to say ‘the’!”

 

“Article is silly word. Is useless.” Heavy stated, smiling slightly. Medic noticed his large shoulders relaxing somewhat.

 

“ _An_ article is _a_ silly word.” Medic corrected with a grin.

 

“Now you make fun of me.” Heavy replied, but he smiled hopefully too.

 

“So, tell me about zhis poem. Who is it about?”

 

“Mother Russia.”

 

“Ah.” Medic said, suddenly feeling awkward and out of his depth again. He searched for something to say. “Vell, you are a man of many talents.”

 

“Now dinner is over, I need to go look after Sasha.” Heavy said, standing up and grabbing the paper again.

 

“Ja, I have to take stock of my medical supplies, too.” Medic had paused, clearing his throat. “Vhen you have a moment, may I have a copy of zhat poem?”

 

“Da, Doktor.” The weapons expert’s face had lit up with a warm smile in which hope rose like a bright sunrise. “I would like that.”

 

After that, they had gravitated towards each other, spending more and more time together. Medic liked to talk, Heavy liked to listen, and so they enjoyed each other’s company. As far as Medic could tell, the large man even _liked_ him, which was a strange and slightly disturbing concept. He had gained a _friend_ , which was good, but it came with its own set of problems. How did friendship work? What was he supposed to do? He had delved into the psychological works of Maslow, Lorenz, Schachter and Singer, but even they seemed to take it for granted that everyone knew how to do this.

 

_Just act naturally_. Ha!

 

Eventually he had swallowed his pride and done what all the REDs did when they had any kind of emotional turmoil: gone to Engineer. Medic suspected that man had enough material on the team to live a very comfortable life via blackmail should he ever choose to retire. However, they all trusted him completely. Medic had explained his problem over one of Engineer’s horrible watery beers, and Engineer had simply shrugged.

 

“Some things you can only learn by doin’, Doc.” He had patted him on the shoulder with a supportive smile. “But so far, I reckon you’re doing just fine.”

 

Of course, later everything got even more complicated and confusing...

 

“Are you listening to me?” BLU Medic suddenly snapped petulantly, making RED startle out of his daydream. His concentration was slipping; he must be getting tired.

 

“Entschuldigung.” RED said absently, putting his glasses back on. “Vhere vas I?”

 

“Subjecting me to psychological torture.” BLU said sourly. “Contravening zhe Geneva Convention.”

 

“Zhat is not my aim at all.” RED replied haughtily. “Zhis is for the good of us all.” He yawned suddenly. “It’s getting late. Ve can continue in zhe morning. Vhen you are ready to sleep, ask Galileo to turn off zhe lights for you.” The dove in question cooed softly and snuggled into BLU’s neck.

 

“Turn zhem off now. Zhere is no need for me to stay awake.” BLU replied softly, looking down at the surface he was perched on.

  
“Ah. Good night, zhen. I hope you sleep vell.”

 

The head did not reply, and RED turned away to leave. He reached the door and flicked off the lights.

 

“RED?” The man suddenly called. RED looked around to see the head silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from outside the room.

 

“Ja?”

 

“You said you vould kill me, vhen zhis is over.”

 

RED swallowed, his hand clenching on the doorhandle.

 

“Promise me you vill. Promise.”

 

He could hear the voice trembling with emotion. He quietly pulled the door shut and locked it, unable to think of anything to say.

 

He walked down the corridor to his room. This deep in the base, the rickety wooden buildings of the battlements gave way to more modern concrete and cheap chipboard. The floor of the living quarters outside the infirmary were carpeted with itchy cheap carpet tiles in a colour Medic privately thought of as ‘diseased spleen’. It serviced, he supposed.

 

The base was silent at this time of night, with most of the mercs retired to their room. His was so tired his eyes were sore, but his mind was whirling, thinking back to the head sitting on its own in the dark, back there in the stark white-tiled room. Alone. Uncared for.

 

_I had to do it_. He told himself fiercely. _I need to know what is going on. This was the only way!_

 

Was it? Or was it simply the _easiest_ way? For him, at least? Medic chewed his bottom lip, trying to process these unusual thoughts. It made him feel like he had churning black mud in his guts and there was some creeping sickness taking him over.

 

_Sacrifices have to be made_. He told himself firmly yet again. _If your theory is correct, he would have done the same. It was merely a matter of opportunity._ The base was so quiet he could even hear his footsteps padding along on the carpet. He turned the corner and entered the dormitory section with its neat little rooms, one for each merc.

 

There was a brief whiff of acrid, spicy cigarette smoke.

 

_Spy!_ He whirled around, glaring up and down the corridor and reached for a bonesaw that wasn’t there, but there was no sign of the shimmering air that signalled a cloaked Spy. He breathed out slowly, trembling and willing his pounding heart to slow down. _Damned Spy. I hate that man._ This was no good; he was so on edge he’d never sleep and yet he was exhausted. He sighed in resignation and headed for one of the doors in the sleeping quarters. It was not his own, and it was unlocked. He turned the handle, feeling sick with guilt. The first time that he had done this had been that last drunken night at Cold Front, the one with the chilli vodka (Chilli vodka! Such a vile drink. Stung going down and also when leaving from whichever orifice it chose to exit), and every time, he vowed he would not do it again. It was wrong, it was... _confusing_. If anybody ever found out...he’d slash his wrists, happily.

 

Every time, he knew he was lying to himself. He pushed the door open and entered the stuffy darkness, stripping off his waistcoat, boots and trousers as he did so.

 

“Misha?” He called softly.

 

“Gustav.” There was an answering murmur and a quiet yawn. It was the only times they used each other’s real names. It was a sort of code for the unspoken, un-discussed, unthinkable, dirty little secret of two lonely men far from home.

 

_Just act naturally._

 

He padded across the neat little room, the coarse carpet tickling his bare feet and carefully slipped under the covers next to the larger man. Callused fingers explored up under his shirt and he sighed and relaxed into the warm embrace, trembling again, but with something other than anxiety this time.

 

**In Chapter Nine: The BLU team start operation: Save the Medic, while BLU Medic tries to get some** **sleep.**

Fanart for this chapter:<http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Eight-Just-Act-Naturally-439651053>

 

_Translations:_

_Entschuldigung - I'm sorry._


	9. What You Are In The Dark

BLU Engineer removed his goggles and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was about ready to fall over, but he refused to give up. This was a matter of life and death, literally.

 

The panelling of the Respawn Bank had been easy to remove, but he had really gotten no farther, even though he had helped _build_ the damn thing- the teleportation, scanning and assessment parts, at least. In a way it was a good thing, since it _had_ to be tamper-proof as a system, with lots of failsafes and fallbacks in case something went wrong. Now and again as he had worked through the system, he had smelt those stinking cigarettes of Spy’s, which just made him more irritable. _If he is gonna stay and watch, he could at least offer to help._

 

Engineer took his hard hat off and scratched his head in bafflement. The problem right now was that there were nine lights steadily shining from the nine cabinets hidden deep within the bowels of the BLU base. Although the various dials showed that _something_ was wrong with Medic, the darn machine was convinced he was still alive. _This has to be some sort of glitch..._

 

“Engineer, it is time for you to take break.” BLU Heavy suddenly said, plodding down the cold concrete steps behind him.

 

“Wait, there’s just one last thing I wanna try.” Engineer mumbled, putting his goggles back on.

 

“If you are not quick, I pick you up and take you away.” Heavy said warningly.

 

“One minute, big fella.” There was the total reset switch, of course, but Engineer was loath to touch that. He’d need the correct security punch card from the bosses, and it’d wipe all their data and require a complete re-entry. He had already tried a false-spawn restart, and connecting his PDA to the bank had not given him any useful data. He crossed a couple of jacks to try and trigger diagnostic mode, but the machine refused to budge. He sat down with a sigh, and a large hand suddenly passed a sandwich on a plate to him. It even had a neatly folded napkin underneath it. He nodded in thanks and bit into it, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

 

“So, what is news?” Heavy asked curiously.

 

“Nothin’. Only thing I can get from the damn machine is that it thinks Medic is still alive.” He looked at the sandwich suspiciously. It had an unpleasant fishy edge to its taste for some reason, but he was too hungry to care. “It’s still keepin’ track of...of the bits, far as I can tell, it just won’t reassemble him until he registers as dead.”

 

“So...we might get him back?” Heavy asked, staring hopefully at the bank of computers.

 

“Wish it was that simple. There’s a whole ton o’ security on these things. I need an override code. It’s a little white card with holes in certain places. That can force a respawn.”

 

“I can make you a bit of paper with holes in it, no problem.” Scout said, strolling down the stairs to join them. “Did I hear you say you think you can bring th’ Doc _back_? Wow, that’s some sci-fi shit right there. Last I saw, he was in the freezer. In bags. Right next to the peas.”

 

“Show some respect for the dead, boy.” Engineer snapped, rounding on Scout with his wrench.

 

“Woah, woah, slow down Truckie, I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere, y’know. I want to get Medic back as much as anybody. I miss the sick old bastard.”

 

“Watch your mouth, Scout.” Engineer said, wagging a trembling finger warningly.

 

“Finish your sandwich.” Heavy said firmly. Engineer nodded and took another bite.

 

“So, what do you need these cards for?”

 

“It’s not just any card, it’s a security code that’d give me access to a special mode where I can force Respawn to recreate him. I’ll have to order it from HQ, and it might take days to get here.” He paused for a grimace and scratched his unshaven chin. “Problem is, if he’s not respawning ‘cos the data’s corrupted, well...”

 

“What would happen?” Heavy asked.

 

“Put it this way. You ever seen steak come out of a mincing machine?”

 

“Dude, sick.”

 

“I don’t want that happenin’ to Medic.” Engineer said firmly. “So, I’m gonna check an’ recheck that nothing else needs fixin’ in that gosh-darn machine before we try.”

 

“Not now though.” Scout replied equally firmly. “You look wasted, Truckie. Go to bed.”

 

“Leetle Scout is right.” Heavy said with a nod. “Tired men fix nothing.”

 

Engineer hefted his wrench onto his shoulder. “No way I can sleep tonight, not with all this goin’ on.”

 

“Just go and get a coupla sleeping pills from...” Scout stopped suddenly and, for once in his life, looked embarrassed. “Ah, shit.”

 

“The machine will wait until morning.” Heavy said, grabbing the back of Engineer’s collar and hauling him gently but firmly away from the computer bank. “It is days before little white card will come, so is time for sleep. Or do I have to hit you over head to make you rest?”

 

Engineer chuckled weakly at that. “Maybe I’ll go and borrow some rutgot from Demo. Rutgot? Sheesh, I _am_ tired, I guess.”

 

“That stuff’s poison when you’re tired, Engie.” Scout said. “I got some beer. How ‘bout we crack open a few?”

 

Engineer sighed. “Sure thing. I’m outta gas anyway.”

 

“Report, Private.” Soldier said, marching down to join them. Pyro plodded down behind him.

 

“Niiir hrrw.”

 

“Hey Solly, Engie thinks we might get the Doc back, can you believe it?” Scout leapt up enthusiastically. “He says he’s sorta stuck in the machine.”

 

“Hmm.” Soldier muttered thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbled jaw with an audible rasping noise. “I thought he was stuck in the freezer.”

 

“So, what’s the news?” Sniper padded silently down to join them, holding his injured hand carefully.

 

“Don’t any of you fellas _sleep_ around here?” Engineer asked.

 

“Demo passed out about an hour ago. He is still breathing. I checked.” Spy uncloaked next to Sniper. “I suspect the rest of us are having difficulties sleeping. So what is the verdict?”

 

Engineer explained once again, trying not to sound irritable. His head was pounding and even though his mind was racing and full of possible diagnostic algorithms, he had to admit he was done for the night.

 

“Hnn.” Spy paused thoughtfully. “I will choose to be cautiously optimistic.”

 

“That he’s dead, or that he’s alive?” Sniper asked sourly.

 

“You wound me. I hope he lives, of course.”

 

“Thought you hated his guts.” Scout said.

 

“He has been continually and openly antagonistic towards me since he joined our team,” Spy said with a disdainful sniff, “But acting like un petit trouduc towards me does not warrant a death sentence.”

 

“C’mon, Engie, let’s grab some beers. You guys can bring yer own though, you’re not having all my stash.” Scout said, leaping away up the stairs.

 

The group headed back upstairs to the mess hall and sat down with a sigh. Engineer took his helmet off and plonked it on the table while Scout fussed about fixing him a beer. The other mercs wandered off and reappeared with more beers and a few assorted snacks.

 

Sniper frowned at the beer he was trying to open one-handed, but without leverage all he could do with the bottle opener was make the bottle scoot across the table until Spy held it for him.

 

“So,” Engineer said, raising his bottle. “To absent friends.”

 

The seven men raised their bottles and clinked them together.

 

“Godspeed, you magnificent bastard.”

 

“Crrrrmm hrrrrmm mrrrddhhhrnk.”

 

“Team needs Doktor.”

 

“Cheers, mate.”

 

“Next time you’re buyin’, doc.”

 

Spy just quietly took a sip, and then grimaced at the taste.

 

“How’s the hand?” Soldier asked, putting his bottle down after gulping half of it in one go.

 

“S’alright.” Sniper said, flexing it and then wincing. “’Cept when I do that.”

 

“Good thing you hurt it, really.” Scout said. Sniper gave him an icy glare through his aviators. “No, wait! If ya hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gone looking for ‘im, and we might not even know he was dead. I mean, he kept to himself n’shit, even missing dinner often. Imagine if we’d started the fight tomorrow morning and then someone had looked around and said ‘Fuck, where’s the doc?’ We’d have been _screwed_.”

 

“He liked his own company. That’s not a crime.” Sniper commented.

 

“We did not try hard enough to make him our friend.” Heavy suddenly said, his low voice even deeper than usual with anger and frustration. “Not good enough.”

 

“You all sound like a bunch of hippies.” Soldier sneered. “The doctor was a man, he didn’t need friends and all that soft shit.”

 

“You sayin’ we’re not your friends, Solly?” Engineer murmured, heading resting on the table. His eyes were half closed but his hand still clasped the bottle firmly.

 

“Nossir! You’re all my brothers-in-arms, it’s a bond of BLOOD. We’ve fought together...”

 

“...And occasionally, fought an _enemy_ instead _._ ” Spy added, curled around his bottle in a private world of his own. Pyro poked him with a gloved finger, his other hand clutching his unopened bottle.

 

“...And that makes us _comrades_. In a non-commie, military sense of course.”

 

“Hnn.” Heavy grunted.

 

Soldier stood up and shook his bottle at them all, his eyes wide and passionate under their helmet. “There isn’t a single one of you sorry maggots I wouldn’t take a bullet for, you hear?”

 

“How touching.” Spy commented drily.

 

“Fuck it.” Scout said, slamming his hands on the table. “If...no, _when_ we get him back, I’m gonna make sure he knows he’s part of the team. We’re gonna throw the biggest party for him and get all his favourite stuff!”

 

“You make me proud, son.” Soldier said, raising his bottle and draining it dry.

 

“What does he like anyway?” Sniper asked.

 

“Human kidneys.” Spy muttered. Pyro slapped him around the back of his head and the Frenchman spilt his bottle.

 

There was a guilty silence, broken only by the soft snoring of Engineer.

 

“He is difficult man to know.” Heavy said at last, knotting his large fingers together on the table. “I should have tried harder.”

 

“Shit.” Scout said with a sigh. “He was with us half a year and only Heavy even _bothered_. Guy’s saved our lives more often than I can count. There was this one time when I was collecting the intel, and he saw a spy after me. You know what he did? He threw his _boot_ at the spy to distract him. His fucking boot! Got backstabbed for his trouble, but we got the intelligence. We suck. We _really_ suck. He doesn’t deserve us. We gotta get him back. We _owe_ it to him.”

 

* * *

 

 

BLU Medic looked out at the darkness of the night time infirmary. His eyesight had adjusted somewhat and he could make out grainy grey shapes of the various pieces of familiar equipment. Oxygen bottles. Cardiograph. Drip stand.

 

He knew he should feel scared, even terrified, but all he could really dredge up was a feeling of bleak despair. _Of course, no adrenal glands. Possibly some fragments of thyroid, but even if it was producing thyroxin, there isn’t much for it to act upon. No heart to beat fast, no palms to sweat, no stomach to churn._

 

Thank heaven for small mercies? Somehow, he didn’t feel very thankful right now. He had had hopes and fears for the future, as everyone did, but this was not an ending he could have imagined in his darkest nightmares. He was trapped in a madman’s lair and maimed beyond any chance of recovery. The only thing he could look forward to was RED getting bored of his experiments, switching off his life support and letting him drift off to whatever afterlife awaited unrepentant, agnostic sinners like him.

 

And nobody would give a single, solitary damn.

 

He had wondered if his team would try and rescue him, but after hearing that conversation, it was obvious that there was no hope of that. RED had been diabolically clever, blowing up his... well alright, his _corpse_ beyond any chance of recognition. The only BLU team member who could have methodically picked through the remains and realised there were no skull fragments or tissue from the brain was...himself. And he was otherwise engaged right now.

 

He frowned, trying to figure out what course of action the BLUs would have taken. Presumably, they had realised he was missing at some point, searched the facility and found his body, or what remained of it. Engineer would have then gone and checked respawn. Hmm. How would respawn have reacted to his condition? He had been involved in the technology involved in point-of-death detection and post-mortem reconstruction, and he guessed it would either stubbornly register him as still alive, or simply suffer a logical breakdown.

 

Either way, with the physical evidence of his grisly and very permanent death, they would no doubt reset the system, perform a full diagnostic strip-down, rebuild and re-enter the data for the remaining eight mercenaries and hire a new Medic. It was the most logical, efficient course of action. One Medic was pretty much like another, after all. It also meant he was doomed.

 

Huh. He would probably be the first person in existence to miss his own funeral.

 

He was so tired his eyes wouldn’t focus properly, and yet he couldn’t sleep. Was that another effect of his current condition? As far as he knew, there had been no studies done on the effects of decapitation on the sleep cycle. He suspected that it would be difficult getting funding to research such an area, and even _more_ difficult getting verifiable results. He found himself imagining a fresh-faced graduate student, standing around in a splattered lab coat and asking their freshly-guillotined patient if he was sleeping, or merely dead. He gave a weak chuckle that sounded broken and desperate even to his own ears.

 

The worst part was that he couldn’t even find it in himself to hate the RED Medic. Over and over again, he had asked himself what he would have done if he had found RED injured and helpless. Not the head thing, since he had no idea where that technology had come from. Hmm. He would have tried to restrain RED somehow. Anaesthetic dart, strap him to a gurney and hide him in one of the many unused rooms of the BLU base?

 

He didn’t exactly feel like he had the moral high-ground here.

 

He had always told himself that sacrifices were necessary for science to progress. However, those sacrifices suddenly felt a lot bigger when he was the one having to make them. The man of science had become the lab rat, and didn’t like it one bit. He found himself thinking back to some of his less-than-willing ‘patients’, and pondered what had gone through their minds at the time. He closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever sleep again.

 

So, cloning. Was RED a clone of him, and if so, why? Were _all_ the Medics clones of him, tweaked just enough to avoid suspicion? Now, by some stupid administrative error, two identical Medics had met... he began to see why RED had been so secretive.

 

_How far and how deep did this rabbit-hole go?_

 

He sniffed suddenly. Had he smelt cigarette smoke? He opened his eyes and looked around suspiciously, but there was no shimmering of RED or BLU Spy’s cloak. He would almost welcome Spy right now. It would be nice to think _someone_ knew he existed. He closed his eyes again. Galileo roused his feathers with a _brrrr_ noise, and then snuggled up against his chin, warm and soft.

 

BLU Medic’s head drooped, and he finally fell asleep and dreamt of ribonucleic acids forming long chains and chasing him down a stark white hospital corridor. In the nude. Except for his socks.

 

**In Chapter Ten: BLU Engineer talks to the Administrator, but it doesn't go exactly as planned.**

 

This chapter's fanart: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Nine-What-You-Are-in-the-Dark-440483175>


	10. Dangerous Games

The trouble with being a solver of practical problems, BLU Engineer mused, was that everyone expected you to solve _all_ of their problems, all night and all day. He didn’t mind, not really, since he liked to be needed and it was sure great to be able to help, but a little more spare time and less responsibility would be nice occasionally. Especially since everyone took it for granted that he should be the one to speak to... _her_.

 

Although the Administrator’s PA system and microphones were scattered throughout the base and battlements, if you wanted to contact her rather than vice-versa, you had to go into the Comms Room, signal through and wait for a reply that may or may not come.

 

The room was cavernous and poorly lit, dug deeply into the ground underneath the concrete bunkers of the base. It was cold and the air was dusty and made his nose tickle. Pyro refused to ever set foot in there for some reason, just shaking his head solemnly if anyone suggested it. Engineer stifled a yawn as he walked over to the central bank of data terminals and its microphone. He didn’t even remember going to bed last night, but he had woken up with his morning with his mind racing, his stomach queasy, and his body still aching with tiredness.

 

He cleared his throat and pressed the red button. “Ma’am? Whenever you’re ready, I’ve got some news on the Respawn failure.”

 

He sat down in a cheap plastic chair and sipped his orange juice while he waited for a reply. Since the Administrator never seemed to stop working, he suspected that keeping him waiting was some sort of psychological mind-game. Engineer did not scare easily though, and he unfolded a newspaper and started to read. Huh. They’d got the guy that had shot Martin Luther King, it seemed. Well, good. Engineer felt the whole rights movement and campaigning was a good thing, but being from the edge of the Deep South, it made him squirm a bit. He knew he’d held opinions that were now considered wrong, not out of any deliberate intolerance, but just because it was what he had been brought up to think. In the last decade or so that had all been swept away, and good riddance. However, he remembered using ‘Whites Only’ facilities with nary a thought, and had felt very uncomfortable around Demo at first, feeling a guilt that wasn’t truly his and trying desperately not to be accidentally racist, somehow. Demo, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to his Southern accent and what it could have meant. _I guess growing up in the Scottish Highlands, he didn’t learn too much about Texan ways._ He had a brief mental picture of Demo, standing around in bleak, foggy mountains, playing the bagpipes and blowing up sheep.

 

“Engineer, report.” The Administrator said in a bored tone of voice.

 

“Good mornin’ Ma’am.” He touched his forehead unconsciously. “I had a good look at Respawn last night, and I found some real interestin’ things.” He sniffed. For a moment there, he had smelt nasty, acrid cigarette smoke.

 

“Really.” She sounded utterly disinterested, and Engineer cleared his throat.

 

“Yeah, it seems Medic’s respawn process was interrupted, and his data is still intact. Far as I can tell, the unit’s just refusin’ to spit him out.”

 

“I see. What do you intend to do about this?”

 

“First I want to check the integrity of the data, to see if the Doc is ok in there. I’m gonna start that today.” He sighed. “That’s the darnedest thing: Medic knows a lot more about that side of its workin’s, but, well...”

 

“Indeed.” The woman _still_ sounded bored, and Engineer swallowed. This whole conversation felt...off.

 

“So, once I check what condition he’s in, there’s one o’ two actions I can take. If he’s intact- and I pray and hope he is- I’ll initiate a forced respawn. Otherwise, well, I guess I have to clear the Doc’s info out of the buffer and do a full reset. He’ll be gone for good.” He grimaced. “It’d be a dirty, bad business for sure, but if he can’t be saved, that’s that. I can’t work magic.”

 

“Well done.” The Administrator sounded patronisingly glutinous. “Stand by for further instructions.”

 

The feeling of unease that had been plaguing Engineer during this conversation deepened and he felt his heart beating a little faster. “Ma’am?”

 

“You were not asked to investigate the cause of the accident, but I realise you felt the need to act.” She replied. “However, a suitable course of action has not been determined yet. There are other factors at play here that you are not aware of.”

 

“Are...are you sayin’ you _don’t_ want to rescue him?” Engineer spluttered. His head was starting to pound. “That...that...”

 

“That had not yet been decided.” The voice replied smoothly. “All possible courses of action will be examined at the appropriate time and the most economical and efficient course will be taken. RED has grudgingly agreed to extend the ceasefire for as long as necessary.”

 

“ _Ec...Economical??_ ” He gasped, his hands grasping the table tightly. “This is a man’s _life_ we’re talkin’ about! Efficiency be damned!”

 

“Your concern is commendable.” The Administrator replied coolly. “However, this is not your responsibility and you will take no further action unless instructed to. Administrator out.”

 

There was a click and the faint hiss of white noise stopped. Engineer could hear his breath coming in short gasps, and his stomach went cold and even sicker. He clenched his right fist, and realised it had gone numb again. He’d have to see the Doc about...

 

_Dammit!_

 

Many of his teammates would have been surprised to see the furious snarl that formed on the mild-mannered man’s lips as he turned and grabbed the microphone, wrenching it out of its socket and sending its wires snapping and pinging. He threw it onto the ground and stamped down hard with the metal sole of his safety boots, reducing it to a sad pile of crushed metal and plastic. He then took a deep breath and tried to make himself be calm. After a few minutes, he had almost succeeded and glumly climbed the stairs up into the BLU living quarters. Now he had to tell the others the bad news. They would not take it well, he was sure.

 

He heard the tinkling of cutlery and the braying laughter of Scout coming from the mess hall, so he headed that way with a deep sigh and pushed open the heavy fire door that led to their eating area.

 

“...and so, I checked to see if my blasts had scared the monster intae my cunning trap, and guess what I found?”

 

“Go on.” Soldier said with an eager nod. He was wearing his pyjamas but still had his helmet sliding down over his eyes.

 

“I had found summat much more rare an’ valuable.” Demo’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “There, in one corner of the huge trap, was this wee beastie. It had bright green scales an’ beady black eyes. Its little fat cheeks were stuffed with the haggis I’d used as bait and it gazed at me wi’ a timeless malevolence from before the dawn o’ history. It was...the Loch Ness Hamster.”

 

Scout snorted and brayed again, choking for breath. “You’re so full of shit, Demo!”

 

“Aye, you keep thinking that, laddie. But one night, ye’ll be near a lake and you’ll hear the gnawing, the _gnawing_ of little pointed teeth and the squeaking of its dreaded wheel...and then, ye’ll find your eyeballs’ve been taken for _nesting material!_ ”

 

“Oh, please.” Spy said, rolling his eyes. “Now you will tell me that is how you lost your eye.”

 

“Nay, not at all!” Demo’s remaining eye widened dramatically. “That is a tale of gruesome horror and household chores...”

 

“Didja just say household chores?” Sniper asked, reaching over to Spy’s untouched breakfast and skewering a piece of bacon. Spy gave him a half-hearted glare.

 

“Don’t encourage him.” Spy’s hand whipped out and grabbed Sniper’s wrist and he carefully plucked the piece of stolen bacon off his fork.

 

“Hey, y’all.” Engineer called, taking a deep breath and stepping into the room.

 

“Have you talked to Administrator?” Heavy asked. “Is there any news of Doktor?”

 

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Fellas, it’s not good.”

 

“Wrrt irrrs hrrrnnng?” Pyro asked, looking up from an empty plate.

 

“What is wrong?” Spy asked, briefly glancing at Pyro.

 

“The Administrator doesn’t want us to save the Doc.” He stated bleakly. “I was told to stop fiddlin’ with respawn and stay well away. Seems...seems they’re thinkin’ of wiping him outta the system” He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the smell of bacon, his churning stomach and the foul taste in his throat. His head spun. “They wanna save money.”

 

Most of the people seated at the table leapt to their feet and started shouting over the top of each other.

 

“What the ever-living _fuck_ , man?”

 

“I WILL CRUSH EVIL WOMAN INTO TINY BITS!”

 

“I will NEVER leave a man behind. NEVER.”

 

“Hrrrrss uh crrrrrp, hrrrrrt hrrrrs WRRRR crrrrp!”

 

“It seems they nae care one bit aboot us! To hell wi’ them all!”

 

“Heartless wankers!”

 

“Well, I wish I could say this surprises me,” Spy’s calm voice cut across the noise. “But I would be lying.”

 

Before anyone could react, Heavy’s meaty hand had shot across the table and he had grabbed Spy by the throat. He stood up and effortlessly lifted the struggling and surprised Frenchman into the air.

 

“Careful what you say about Doktor.” Heavy growled threateningly, glaring at the man dangling from his fist.

 

“Prrrrtt mrrrr frrnnnnd drrrrn!” Pyro said, standing up and pulling hopelessly at the massive Russian’s arm.

 

Spy struggled, his eyes turning upwards in their sockets as he made a slight whining noise and his thin hands scrabbled at the huge hand clamped around his neck.

 

Soldier grabbed Heavy’s other arm and tried to tug at it. “I will not have fighting in my unit, Private! Put him down now!”

 

“Nyet, he wants Doktor dead! Doktor is part of team. I kill him for what he said!”

 

“Heavy, stop...” Engineer took a step towards the furious man, but his stomach lurched and he quickly staggered in another direction and reached the sink just in time to vomit noisily and messily. He clutched the cold metal edge and heaved until his eyes streamed and the world spun. There was a thud and a groan as Spy fell to the floor.

 

“Leetle Engineer is sick!”

 

“Y’alright, Truckie?” Sniper asked quietly, the tall man coming to his side in concern.

 

“M’alright.” He muttered, forcing himself to breathe slowly and evenly. His mouth still tasted of oranges. “Sorry y’all. Din’t expect that. Guess this whole mess was a bit of a shock.”

 

“Sit doon, hardhat, ye’re pure done in.” Demo stated, pushing a chair towards him. The explosives expert stood up and went to rinse out the sink with a slight grimace.

 

Spy staggered upright, made a strangled croaking noise, and then sat down at the table again, carefully adjusting his suit. “All I meant was that the Administrator’s lack of care towards _any of us_ ,” He emphasised carefully, glaring coldly at Heavy, “Is exactly the behaviour I would have expected from her. If you think we are anything but disposable toy soldiers to her, you are sadly mistaken. I do _not_ agree with this decision, naturellement.” Pyro patted Spy on the arm in concern and the skinny man shifted slightly in his seat.

 

“Spy has never liked Medic.” Heavy stated menacingly.

 

“Wrong. _He_ never liked _me_ , and made that abundantly clear when he first joined us.”

 

“It ain’t right.” Engineer said, swallowing and clearing his burning throat. He still felt shaky and queasy. He gritted his teeth in determination. “And if she thinks I’m gonna stop just because she says so, she can think again. I’m gonna check the data and _then_ we’ll see. I’ve never known a security system I couldn’t hotwire sooner or later.”

 

“Aye, that’s the spirit, lad!” Demo went to slap Engineer heartily on the back, but turned it into a gentle pat at the last minute, not wanting the smaller man to throw up again.

 

“Yeah, screw her.” Scout said, stabbing the table viciously with a butter knife.

 

“You play a dangerous game, mon ami.” Spy commented, tweaking the fingers of his gloves and getting out his cigarette case. “Has it occurred to you what might happen if the Administrator should find out you are fiddling with Respawn? I would suggest you wait until we have a definite decision from her.”

 

“I’m not letting this lie.” Engineer replied stubbornly. His stomach flopped over again, and he thought back uneasily to that funny tasting sandwich from the night before. “Administrator be damned, I won’t let them throw a person away like a piece o’ trash.”

 

“I’ll help you however I can.” Soldier said sternly, standing up and placing his hands on the table decisively. “We do not abandon our squad to the enemy.”

 

“The Administrator is our enemy?” Spy asked idly, lighting up his third cigarette of the day. The stink of strong French cigarettes filled the room.

 

“She is now.” Soldier replied, baring his large square teeth in a determined grimace.

 

**In Chapter Eleven: The RED Medic does his research, and finds out which of the two Medics is the original.**

Fanart for this chapter:<http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Ten-Dangerous-Games-441180111>


	11. Changing Perspectives

“Guten morgen, Blauenkopf!” RED Medic said cheerfully, drawing the ragged curtains of the infirmary aside and letting the dusty sunlight in. “How are you zhis morning?”

 

“Was ist...” BLU mumbled and blinked in the sudden bright light. Galileo pecked his unshaven chin and stretched a wing. “Do _not_ call me zhat!”

 

“You must admit, it suits you. Did you sleep vell?” RED asked curiously, sitting down in front of the head and steepling his fingers.

 

“Hrrn. Not really. Many odd dreams.”

 

“Ah, zhat is interesting. I did vonder if lack of a body vould result in more REM zleep.”

 

“Zhat would be logical.” BLU mused, his grumpy expression fading for a moment.

 

RED looked at the head curiously for a moment. The man looked thinner, somehow, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. “Are you vell? You look pale and tired.”

 

“Zhe last day has been razher eventful.” He remarked sourly. “Perhaps being beheaded and declared dead has left me a little out of zorts.”

 

“Hmm, ja.” RED drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “So, do you vant to know my plans for today?”

 

“You are going to tell me no matter vhat.”

 

“True. It’s testing time!” RED opened a drawer and got out a large syringe, holding it up with glee. “I vish to see how similar ve truly are. Blood serum tests, hair analysis, dental imprints, ear imprints. I vould try fingerprints, but, heh, vell...”

 

“Did you say _ear imprints_?”

 

“Ah, yes, zhis is some recent research of mine.” RED replied, realising how pleasant it was to have someone on his own wavelength to talk to. “Did you know zhat zhe shape of zhe ear is unique to every individual?”

 

“Truly? I vonder vhy zhat is.” BLU paused thoughtfully. “Let me zhink...zhe shape of zhe auricle is designed to give us a sense of vhere a sound comes from by funnelling zounds at differing volumes according to direction. If it varies between people, zhis means zhat everyone detects distance and direction slightly differently. If one accepts zhe optimalist approach to natural selection, zhat must be evolutionarily advantageous, but I can’t see vhy. Hmm. In a group zetting, zhe ability of members of the tribal unit to detect differing zhreats vas good for zhe entire group, I suppose.”

 

“But zhe theory of group selection has little proof.” RED argued.

 

“True. Perhaps zhe ability to detect a particular zhreat zhat ozhers miss vould be advantageous to zhe individual?”

 

“Ja, zhat could zheoretically...” RED stopped suddenly and looked at BLU. His fingers shook slightly on the desk and his heart was suddenly beating fast. He would still run the tests, but he could feel the certainty filling him up, deep in his bones. This man was _him_. Same mind, same body, same voice, same thoughts. A perfect copy. BLU’s eyes widened with the same realisation as he looked back.

 

This meant he had essentially chopped his own head off and subjected it to this ordeal. The man of science had turned himself into the lab rat. That black churning sensation in his guts that he had managed to banish last night came back in full.

 

“I vant to know who did zhis to us.” BLU said finally. “I vant to know _how_ and I vant to know _vhy_.”

 

“So do I.” RED chewed his lip. “Blauenkopf, vill you help me?”

 

The head was silent for a moment. He frowned, his thin lips pressed together before he cleared his throat. “Blood Type O, Rhesus Negative. Zhe universal donor. It has come in handy a few times.”

 

“Danke.” RED said softly. He looked down at his huge syringe with a feeling of slight disappointment. “Alzhough zhat means I don’t get to stab you vizh zhis.”

 

BLU gave a weak chuckle, right on the edge of hearing and spiced with desperation. RED smiled hopefully. It was, at least, a start.

 

“So, do I have your permission to take some imprints?” He asked.

 

BLU paused for a second, and then gave a small nod. Galileo cooed enthusiastically and rubbed up against his neck. RED turned his back on the head and pretended to fiddle with a shelf to hide his sudden confusion. Since when had he bothered asking patients for permission to perform a procedure? It wasn’t as if he’d not continue just because they said ‘no’. He realised, though, that if BLU had refused, he maybe, just maybe, would have stopped. He pushed his glasses up his nose unconsciously, and then rummaged in a cupboard to find his rarely-used dental moulds and alginate powder. As he mixed the powder with water to create a gel, he was sure that for a brief moment he smelt cigarette smoke, but he sniffed the alginate and then shrugged dismissively, quickly forgetting all about it.

 

“Open vide.”

 

BLU glared at him for a moment, before sighing in resignation and opening his mouth. RED carefully noted the lack of tonsils and the fillings in the lower right sixth and seventh molars. He quickly placed the alginate filled mould into the man’s mouth before he could object.

 

“Zhere. It vill fully set in a few minutes.”

 

“Ahh.”

 

“It vill take me some time to analyse zhe results. Most of zhe day, I zhink. I don’t analyse dental imprints very often, und I also need to take my _own_ dental imprint, vhich vill be fiddly. Vould you like zome reading material to keep you occupied?”

 

“Ahh hhaaank hurrrn huhhh haaarrrschs.”

 

“Oh, just ask Galileo to turn zhe page for you vhen you vish.”

 

“Ahh?”

 

“He vill understand.”

 

“Urrrr hurrr urruurrhrrr.”

 

“So he is.” RED sorted through an untidy stack of books that had been sat on top of a gas canister. “Let me see... Lord of Zhe Rings, Zhe Catcher in zhe Rye, Pride and Prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird und...” His eyes widened in horror at the final title and realised the hefty volume by Alfred Kinsey must have slipped into the collection of novels by mistake. He noticed BLU raising an eyebrow questioningly at its title: ‘Sexual Behaviour in the Human Male.’ He swallowed and gave a sickly grin. “...zhat is just some background research.”

 

“Whrruuu huuhhh uuh uuuck hrrrs hrrrm?” BLU asked, looking at the various books laid out before him.

 

“You sound just like Pyro. I borrowed zhem from Heavy...except for zhat last one.” He checked his watch. “Zhe mould vill have set now. If I may...?” He carefully removed the bulky imprint from BLU’s mouth and held it up to the light, removing his glasses for a better look.

 

“Zhe Heavy? He has read _zhese_?” BLU spluttered “But he’s...”

 

“He has a degree in Russian Literature. He likes to read. Zhat is how he taught himzelf English.” RED replied with an amused smile, suddenly feeling like laughing at BLU’s confusion. He held a finger to his lips. “But zhat is just between you and I. So, vhich vould you like?”

 

“Uh... Zhe Catcher in Zhe Rye?” BLU stated after a thoughtful pause, still looking rather baffled and lost.

 

“Here.” He laid out the orange hardback and flipped it open to the first page for the head. “Galileo, turn zhe page if he asks, ja?”

 

“Coo.”

 

“RED?”

 

“Ja?”

 

“Danke.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Bonjour, Madame.”

 

“Report.”

 

“Mostly, the situation is progressing well. RED team remains oblivious to their Medic’s little project. He is currently trying various forensic identification techniques. The BLU Medic is...more compliant than I expected. I thought he would fight tooth and nail, figuratively speaking. I wondered if he had been drugged, but apparently not.”

 

“Medic is one of the more...unpredictable mercenaries.”

 

“Quite so.”

 

“And the BLU team?”

 

“Ah, the situation there is more volatile. Needless to say, they are discomforted by the apparent failing of Respawn, and, if I am to be truthful, your discussion with the BLU Engineer earlier today has not helped. They are close to open rebellion, and determined to rescue their docteur without your help.”

 

“My discussion with their Engineer was designed to give you extra time to work. Do you recommend termination then?”

 

“Not yet. Happily, the Engineer has been taken ill and is unable to work on subverting Respawn’s security at the moment.”

 

“Your ruthlessness impresses me. What poison did you use? Will it be fatal?”

 

“Non, non Madame.” There was a weak, forced laugh. “He has simply developed a nasty little case of food poisoning. It was merely a useful coincidence. I believe he will recover.”

 

“Unless I decide otherwise.” The voice said drily.

 

There was a pregnant pause.

 

“Just so, Madame.” The voice replied, with just a tiny shade of disapproval.

 

“How much longer will you need?”

 

“That rather depends on them.”

 

“So it does. Administrator out.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day passed slowly for BLU Medic. He was finding it oddly hard to concentrate on his book, even though the faithful little dove turned the pages as he asked. The adolescent brat and his meandering thoughts did little more than irritate him, and he felt a certain jealousy towards a young man who had such freedom to make so many choices in his life, and to worry about tiny, inconsequential little details. It made BLU feel oddly angry and cheated. Gottverdammte, he had lost his place again. The words danced in front of his eyes and he had to concentrate to make them focus.

 

_‘“Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules.”_

_“Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it.”_

_Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it's a game, all right — I'll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren't any hot-shots, then what's a game about it? Nothing. No game.’_

 

This was all nonsense. BLU snarled quietly, his lips lifted disdainfully.

 

“I tried to read it too.” RED commented, bent over a microscope. “Heavy says he zhinks it is a marvellous piece of English literature.”

 

“Nozhing ever seems to happen.”

 

“I know.”

 

“It has no plot.”

 

“I know.”

 

“It is very hard to follow zhe sentences.”

 

“I know.” RED shrugged and backed away from the microscope, stretching until his spine creaked. He rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. “I zhink I got as far as chapter six before giving up.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, looking carefully at BLU.

 

“Have you gathered any more data?” BLU asked. RED continued looking thoughtfully at him for a moment, and then suddenly leapt up and shone a bright light in his left eye. “Stop zhat!”

 

RED ignored him and tested the right eye too before steepling his hands and staring at the head measuringly. “How do you feel, Blauenkopf?”

 

BLU opened his mouth to give the same sarcastic reply as before- pretty healthy for a person who had been decapitated- but stopped. “Razher light-headed. Cold. Very tired. Eyes von’t focus.”

 

“Worse zhan zhis morning?”

 

“...Ja, ich denke.”

 

“Hmm.” RED got up and came back with an overly large red and yellow woolly hat, which he carefully placed on BLU’s head. “Better?”

 

“I must look ridiculous.” He grumbled. However, the hat was warm and soothing. Galileo tugged at the weave forlornly.

 

“You do razher.” RED agreed with a smile. “But does it help?”

 

“Ja, I suppose.” He admitted.

 

“Gut! Now to answer your question...”

 

“I asked a question?” BLU said in puzzlement. He cast his memory back, trying to remember what he had asked. RED gave him another long, measuring stare.

 

“Ja.” He said, watching the head carefully. “You asked if I had made any progress.”

 

“I did? Yes...I did. I remember now.”

 

“I have not analysed the ear imprints yet, but zhe hair samples match. Dental records _almost_ match. My molars are slightly more worn zhan yours. Vhich means...”

 

“You must be older zhan I.” BLU said. He sighed in resignation, closing his eyes. “You are zhe original. I am just zhe copy.”

 

“Ah, my friend,” RED took off his glasses, rubbed his brow and sighed. “If only. I don’t zhink it is zhat simple. Zhink about our serial numbers: 029/b and 029/c. _Twenty Nine!_ Ve are both... just copies. And zhere may...zhere _must..._ be many, many others.”

 

“Gottverdammte.” BLU looked up at the ceiling. The white tiles seemed to blur and waver. He felt...he felt...he didn’t know what to feel. Angry, weak, cold and dizzy, but also so tired, mortally tired, as if he could just fall asleep and never wake up. And if he took that long walk into the night, who would miss him?

 

No one. Not a single, solitary person. He was just a ghost, a completely worthless unperson. Galileo pecked his nose suddenly and then turned a page in the book. A piece of paper, obviously used as a bookmark, slid out. He recognised the blockish writing as Heavy’s, but his eyes wouldn’t focus enough for him to read it.

 

This was the bleakest minute of his entire life. If he had had hands and someone had given him a syringe of potassium cyanide at that moment, he would have jabbed it into his jugular with no hesitation at all. He closed his eyes slowly, ignoring the world wavering and warping around him.

 

“I vish...I had never started zhis.” RED murmured, putting his glasses back on. “I vill finish zhe final test and zhen remove your life support, so you can respawn.”

 

BLU dragged himself back to the present. “Respawn?”

 

“Ja. Vonce the collar stops working, you vill quickly die and zhen respawn vill catch you.”

 

He gave a bitter bark of a laugh that was half a sob. “You naive wretch! You honestly zhink zhat vould vork?”

 

“Yes?” RED’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

 

“Zhey vill have _deleted_ me from Respawn by now!” BLU snarled, his voice cracking with emotion. “If ve are so replaceable, vhy vait? Vhy not just reset zhe system and hire- no, _create_ , a new Medic? It vould be quicker and cheaper.”

 

RED gaped silently for a moment, his mouth hanging open dumbly in shock. “But...your team...”

 

“MY. TEAM. DOESN’T. CARE!” BLU shrieked in reply.

 

RED stood up, his long face set with grim determination. He clenched his fists on the table. “Vell, I do.”

 

**In Chapter Twelve: Soldier shows off his cooking skills, Scout expresses his dislike for Spy's tentacles, and Medic... freaks out.**

 

This Chapter's Fanart: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Eleven-Changing-Perspectives-442008475>

 

_Translations:_

_Guten morgen, Blauenkopf - Good morning, Blue head_

_Ja, ich denke - Yes, I think so._


	12. Burnt Offerings

_Where’s the steak, where’ve they hidden it this time..._

 

It was BLU Soldier’s turn to cook, and he liked meat, so it was steak night. He glared at the refrigerator, trying to magic some nice steak into existence.

 

“Alright, Solly.” Sniper said, strolling in and heading for the coffee machine.

 

“Evening, Private.” Soldier replied with a nod. He lifted up the margarine to see if there was any steak hiding underneath it. There wasn’t. The salad drawer was filled with a stinking brown slime, and also had no steak. He pulled out a dripping yellow leaf and sniffed it cautiously.

 

“Only seven for dinner, I guess. Poor Engie.” Sniper sat down with a mug and plunked his feet on the table with a sigh. “We’re droppin’ like flies.”

 

Soldier slammed the fridge door and spun around in shock. “Engineer is _dead_?”

 

“Nah, nah, mate.” Sniper raised his bandaged hand reassuringly. “Last I heard he was in the lavvy, and bein’ way noisier than a dead bloke.”

 

“Be careful what you say, Private. You’re spreading fear and despondency. That’s a court marshal offense.” Soldier waved a finger warningly.

 

“Leave it out.” Sniper said, idly sipping his coffee. “What’re you doin’ for dinner?”

 

“I was going to do steak but,” Soldier lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Someone stole the steak.”

 

“You mean there’s no steak.” Sniper said tiredly.

 

“Because someone stole it!” Soldier said with a triumphant nod.

 

“Or mebbe we already ate it. We had beef last night, right?” Sniper took his feet off the table and looked in the fridge with a wrinkled nose. “Huh. Looks like we should’ve ordered some supplies. And cleaned this shitty fridge out. No wonder Engie’s chunderin’. How about the freezer?”

 

Soldier strode over stiffly to the deep freeze and opened the lid. He peered in with a thoughtful grimace. “There’s three frozen chickens in there, a bag of peas, and Medic.”

 

“Casserole then.”

 

Soldier suddenly whipped around and grabbed the front of Sniper’s shirt, hauling him within spitting distance. “Son, if you’re suggesting we have chicken, pea and Medic stew for dinner, I’ll be putting you on extra duties! The situation is not _nearly_ desperate enough for cannibalism yet, you hear? Not until the beer runs out!”

 

“Get off me, you crazy bugger!” Sniper said, pushing Soldier away and wiping his face. Soldier, however, had stopped looking at him and was staring into the freezer. Something about it tweaked his memories from the war.

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Solly?”

 

“Yes, Private?”

 

“Y’know last week, when we had that party after the REDs left...we drank all the beer. Next mornin’ you cooked chilli for brekkies.”

 

“And?”

 

“...was it anyone we know?”

 

Soldier ignored the comment. Obviously, right now he was on mess duty, but tomorrow morning, he would come back and check to see if he was right. And if he was...

 

Medic wasn’t dead. And BLU Soldier did not leave his men behind.

 

* * *

 

 

Over in the RED base on the other side of the stagnant moat, the evening meal was far more pleasant. Spy had cooked that night, and he had made some sort of fish stew he called...beerbase? Heavy hadn’t quite caught the name. It wasn’t bad but would have been better with some dill in it. He dipped his bread into the broth and then ate the soaked crust with relish.

 

Medic sat by his side, a sliver of rapidly cooling fish on his fork, and stared into midair. He chewed slowly, but Heavy doubted he actually had anything in his mouth. Heavy quietly nudged the man, but got no reaction. His friend had always tended to go off into daydreams, but he had been particularly distracted after the BLU Medic’s respawn had failed.

 

In public, anyway. In private, the word _desperate_ sprung to mind, and he had the scratch marks to prove it. He’d have to tactfully ask Gustav to cut his nails more often.

 

“What’s this bit, Spy?” Scout asked, gingerly holding up a morsel on his knife.

 

“Sea urchin.”

 

“Whaaat?! Those spiky little things grannies keep on their shelves? You can’t eat _those_.” He dropped the bright orange chunk of meat back into the bowl. “Shit. This is a tentacle. What the fuck, Spy?”

 

“If you don’t like it, you can always make yourself a classic American dish. I’m sure we have plenty of lard, salt and tasteless starch on the base.” Spy said acidly, before delicately popping a flake of fish into his mouth.

 

Sniper gave a deep chuckle. “You should try Bush tucker if you think this is bad, Scout.”

 

“Oh yeah, you told me about that! It’s grubs, right? You can keep it.” Scout laughed suddenly and ate a random forkful of stew. “Suddenly this fish stew ain’t so bad. I ain’t eating tentacles though.”

 

“I think this is tasty,” Demo gobbled his food down. “If ye can eat haggis, ye can eat _anythin’_ , I say.”

 

“Needs more ketchup.” Soldier said, pouring tomato sauce onto his plate.

 

“Oh, please.” Spy said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

 

“I say it’s great to try new things.” Engineer said, buttering a piece of bread. “This is a fine meal you’ve put on for us, Spy. Don’t think I’ve eaten half the things in this before now.” He stabbed a piece of octopus and ate it with a grin. Scout made a gagging noise.

 

“It was my pleasure.” Spy dabbed his mouth with his napkin and nodded graciously. “Assembling the ingredients took quite some time.”

 

There was a clatter as Medic, still staring at nothing, dropped his fork and then blinked in surprise at the noise. Heavy gave up on being subtle and elbowed him.

 

“Eat your dinner, Doktor.” He said sternly. “You cannot live on air alone.”

 

“Ja, ja, zhere is no need to lecture me.” Medic replied, guiltily filling his fork. Heavy glared at him until he swallowed the entire mouthful.

 

Spy started whistling that little tune of his again. Demo and Soldier hid their mouths behind their hands, and Sniper started snorting with smothered laughter. Heavy looked up with a puzzled frown, while Medic’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“Fellas, that’s _enough_.” Engineer said sternly. “Joke’s getting old now.”

 

“What is joke?” Heavy asked.

 

“Yeah, what’s so funny, anyhow?” Scout asked curiously. “I know that tune from somewhere, but I don’t get it.”

 

“Well, Spy? Are you gonna tell them or shall I?”

 

Spy flourished his hand in a mockery of a bow. “The floor is yours, Engineer.”

 

Engineer took a deep breath and turned to face Heavy and Medic. “You don’t come to my film evenings, so y’all missed this great comedy movie that came out earlier this year.”

 

“Ohhh now I get it!” Scout said, and started laughing. Engineer gave him a stern glare and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

 

“It had this catchy li’l theme tune to it.” Engineer whistled a few bars of the same tune Spy had been humming. “Name of the film was ‘The Odd Couple’. It’s about these two guys who live together...”

 

Medic made an odd little strangling noise. Heavy glanced around and saw the colour draining from the man’s long face.

 

“...They’re as diff’rent as can be, but they kinda fit each other, and then...”

 

The doctor suddenly stood up, throwing down his cutlery with a furious clatter and dashed out of the room.

 

Heavy stood up too and pointed a large finger at Spy. “I deal with you later.”

 

He turned away from the group and walked off to find Medic, keeping his footsteps slow and steady. He heard the end of the conversation before he went out of earshot.

 

“Well, that was a little bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” Spy said.

 

“Guess he dinnae get the joke. Medic’s a strange laddie at times.”

 

Heavy snarled under his breath and went to find out where Medic had run off to. His friend had two places he would retreat to if he wanted to be alone: his bedroom, or the infirmary. Instinct told him that Medic would have hidden in his bedroom this time, since it was more private. Sure enough, as he padded along the quiet corridor towards the sleeping quarters, he heard thumping and movement from Medic’s room. He took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, fervently wishing his English was better. It was so much easier to write than speak, but now it was time for a conversation that was long overdue, and he just prayed he could find the right words.

 

“Gustav?”

 

The man turned towards him, white-faced, wild-eyed and clutching a book in his hands. The room was even messier than normal, with books and clothes scattered across the floor. He bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl and launched the book at his Heavy’s head. It missed, though, and hit the opposite wall of the corridor. Heavy closed the door firmly and walked over to the distraught man, grabbing his wrists before he could launch any more missiles. He struggled, glaring at Heavy venomously.

 

“Geh weg. Lass mich in Ruhe!” He hissed.

 

“Stop this.” Heavy told him sternly, glaring straight back. “You are having tantrum like leetle baby.”

 

“Fick dich!”

 

Heavy did not know any German, since learning English was difficult enough as it was, but he could guess what _that_ phrase meant. “You already have.” He replied levelly.

 

Medic stared at him in horror for a moment before collapsing bonelessly so that Heavy was suddenly holding him up by his arms. He dragged him over to the bed and sat him down firmly, and then sat down next to him. Medic leaned forward and put his head in his shaking hands.

 

“How vill I ever face zhem again? Zhey zhink ve are...” He trailed to a halt briefly. “...and zhey are right! It is sick! I am _sick_!”

 

“Gustav...”

 

“Ah, mein Gott, vhat shall I _do_? Und after vhat I found out today...I am dead! _Dead_!”

 

“Gustav!”

 

“I have to leave! Right now, zhis very moment! Zhey vill never...”

 

“Gustav, stop this.”

 

“Zhey vill be disgusted vizh us. Vhy vas I not stronger? Vhy did I let it happen? _How_ could I let zhis happen? How? _How? HOW?!”_

 

“Gustav, stop.” Heavy repeated firmly, shaking the panicking man’s shoulder. “Calm down. Listen to me.”

 

The man gave a gulping sigh, swallowed and turned to look at Heavy warily.

 

“I have not seen film, but Odd Couple was play first. I read that.”

 

“So?”

 

“It is about two _divorced_ men who are _friends_ , only.” Heavy explained. “Spy was just teasing. I break his nose later, promise.”

 

“Friends?”

 

“Da. Just friends.”

 

“Not...” Medic’s voice trailed to a halt and he waved a shaking hand in the air.

 

“Nyet.”

 

“Ah, mein Gott.” He repeated in miserable dismay, burying his face completely in his hands. “Now I must look like a total fool to zhem all.”

 

“Maybe.” Heavy replied with a shrug. “Is not first time.”

 

“Bastard.” Medic punched him in the arm but looked up and smiled sheepishly. The colour started to return to his cheeks. He gave a long keening sigh and they sat in silence for a few seconds. Heavy put his arm around him and tried to hold him close, but Medic struggled and pulled away.

 

“Nein...” He said, but his hand stayed on Heavy’s arm as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

 

“At first, I felt it wrong and bad too, but I think much about this: Soviets say it is wrong. Nazis said it is wrong. But it hurt nobody, and they hurt many, many people. I think they are not good judges of right and wrong. So I decide: to hell with all them.”

 

“I try not to zhink about it...but vhat does it _mean_? Vhat should I do?” Medic looked pleadingly at him, begging for an answer that would make sense to that logical mind of his. “Vhat _am_ I?”

 

“You are Gustav. I am Misha. We are...whatever we want to be.”

 

Medic looked down for a moment, peering at the littered carpet as if he was searching for an answer there. He glanced up with a frown at the larger man for a moment, before examining the floor again. Finally, he looked up determinedly, grabbed Heavy’s shoulders and kissed him.

 

**In Chapter Thirteen: BLU Medic falls ill, RED Medic shows just how far he will go for science, and BLU Soldier comes to the right conclusion for the wrong reasons.**

Fanart for this chapter: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Twelve-Burnt-Offerings-442701133>

 

_Translations:_

_Geh weg. Lass mich in Ruhe! - Go away. Leave me alone!  
_

_Fick dich! - Fuck you!  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03/07/14: Realised I hadn't put the chapter title in. Oops, I have no memory.


	13. Insanity Squared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick question for you to ponder: In the story summary, I said that Medic had 'the most ridiculously awful week of his existence'. Which Medic did I mean? I'll leave that for you to think about. Also, I apologise for the pun the RED Medic makes. I have dishonoured my family unto seven generations (not really).
> 
> Edited 03/07/14: Realised I hadn't put the chapter title in. Oops, I have no memory.

He could hear the waves crashing and the mournful cries of seagulls. He felt empty and floated through the frozen white clouds, disembodied and lost, as cold as the air around him. He wanted to call out and find someone, but he had no idea who. He knew no names, not even his own. A gull swooped close, and he realised it was a white dove, but it still cried out with a gull’s voice, singing terrible words at him.

 

_Nameless... Soulless... Nothing... Oblivion... Empty... Nonentity._

 

He wanted to shout at them to shut up, but he had no voice and no body. He wanted to lose himself in the frozen clouds and be forgotten...to sleep...just let me sleep...

 

“Blauenkopf?”

 

The clouds gained sharp edges and turned into squares.

 

_Nobody..._

 

“Come now, vake up, my friend. Now is not zhe time for sleeping.”

 

The clouds wavered, criss-crossing and weaving in and out of each other. He blinked slowly.

 

“Vhy are zhe squares zhere?” He asked. “Zhe birds need to shut up, zhey stop me zhinking.”

 

“You vill feel better in a moment.”

 

“Let me sleep.” He mumbled. “Too cold to be avake.”

 

“You fell ill last night, vhile I vas, eh, busy. I’m sorry, I should have realised vhat vas happening before zhen. By zhis morning you vere delirious and feverish.”

 

“Ill?” The square clouds became shinier and harder, retreating away to form a plane hanging in front of him. “I vant zhe clouds back. Bring zhem back!” The comforting cold was leaving too, and the world thawed, the ice shattered and reality snapped back.

 

The squares were tiles on the infirmary wall opposite. There were no doves, and only a gentle warmth. The RED Medic was staring at him measuringly. He gave a small groan and blinked again.

 

“Vhat happened?”

 

“You vere drowning in your own toxins. It seems your life-support system is not as efficient at purifying blood as human kidneys and livers. So,” And RED gave a wide grin and held up his arm. “I leant you mine.” Two large-bore needles lead from RED’s arm to somewhere below BLU’s stubbled chin. One was bright vermillion, the other a duller purple-red.

 

“Ah, uh, danke?” BLU realised he was once again thanking the man who had cut his head off _. But he is trying to keep you alive even though he has no good reason to... he could have just let you die...he said he was going to help..._

 

“How do you feel now?”

 

He frowned briefly, trying to perform an internal audit on what body he had left. He _did_ feel better than he had yesterday when he had been trying to plough through that novel. More alert, and not so cold. However, the revelations of the previous night hit him like a damp brick, and clammy depression settled back over him again.

 

“Better.” He simply replied.

 

“Sehr gut! The unit can now take over again. I vill give you anozher transfusion later today. Zhis is excellent, now I can keep you alive indefinitely!” RED neatly plucked the needles from his own arm and BLU’s neck.

 

BLU didn’t even bother to comment on that remark. “You zeem very cheerful zhis morning.” He said suspiciously. “Considering vhat ve found out last night.”

 

“Ja?” RED replied, getting a medigun and backpack out of a cupboard.

 

“Fine, keep your secrets.” BLU muttered. BLU recognised the medigun as the prototype gun he had later modified and streamlined into the Quickfix. Of course, it hadn’t been him who had made the medigun- he merely carried the memories of the man who had. He sighed, wondering if he would ever get used to that.

 

“Now, I had an idea during zhe night, and I vant to see if it vill vork.” RED said ignoring the remark. He placed a towel on the desk, and then put a metal tray next to it. The tray contained his Ubersaw, a sterile dressing, surgical tape, a syringe and needle, and a vial of Lidocaine.

 

“Vhat is zhat all for?” BLU asked, dubiously eyeing the collection. “I don’t have many body parts left for you to remove.”

 

“Zhis?” He held up a finger dramatically. “I said I vould help you, and so I vill. Zhis is the first step to your salvation, Blauenkopf!”

 

“Vhat...”

 

“Vatch.” RED quickly filled the syringe with the local anaesthetic and carefully inserted the needle into his left hand, just below the knuckle and next to his little finger, wincing slightly. “Ve vait a few moments until my hand goes numb...” He wiggled his fingers experimentally and then poked his finger with the needle. Little beads of blood formed on the skin. “Zhere.”

 

RED sat down at the desk, straightening his glasses and adjusting his shirt sleeves, and then he placed his left hand on the towel, balling his fingers into a fist except for his pinkie finger. He grabbed his Ubersaw in the other hand...

 

“RED!” BLU cried out in horror.

 

...and brought it down firmly, neatly chopping off his own finger.

 

“ _Du bist verrückt_ _!_ ” BLU shouted. “Totally insane!”

 

“Shh.” The injured man rapidly bound his bleeding hand in a cocoon of fabric and surgical tape and then picked up the severed digit with a satisfied nod. “Now let’s see if zhis vorks.”

 

He placed the finger back on the towel, and picked up the Quickfix gun. He twisted the gas valve to fully open, and then set the charge to maximum. He switched it on, and the cooling fins started to glow as he aimed it at the bleeding finger he had cut off. Instead of the normal soft tendril of light the medigun emitted usually, a brilliant red arc of light shot out, spinning and writhing. The backpack shook and rattled, its cooling fins glowing first red, then white hot. The room reeked of burning insulation, there was a shriek of tearing metal, a flash of blinding light and then a very final bang.

 

And briefly the stink of cigarette smoke.

 

BLU blinked, trying to clear the green after-images from his eyes as RED hurriedly dropped the scorching-hot remains of the Quickfix and sucked his remaining fingers. Curls of stinking grey smoke hung in the air. RED bent over to look at the object on the towel and smiled in triumph.

 

“It vorked!”

 

“Zhat was a success? Vhat vould failure have looked like?” BLU asked.

 

“Ja, I broke zhe Quickfix, but look...” RED picked up the item on the towel and held it reverentially.

 

Four fingers, and a thumb. It was a hand, complete and perfect.

 

“I need to do some calculations, but BLU...” He smiled at the head. “I’ll make a man out of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

BLU Scout checked his watch and skidded around the corner, little puffs of dust exploding under his feet as he completed his last lap of the base. With the current ceasefire, he was getting not just bored, but in dire need of exercise, so he had taken to having a quick pre-lunch run to stave off an attack of the fidgets, as Mom always put it.

 

He jogged in the spot for a moment, trying to decide if he was hungry enough for lunch yet, or whether to do another lap. He stomach chose that moment to rumble, so he decided to run back to the base and grab some food. He sprinted back to the main door, checked his heartbeat and then strolled into the cool corridor of the living quarters, heading in the direction of the mess hall.

 

The door to Engineer’s room opened and Scout stopped cautiously to make sure he was out of splash distance, but the smaller man just stepped out into the corridor, yawned and then smiled at Scout tiredly.

 

“Hey, hardhat. You look like hell. How’re ya doin’?”

 

“Better’n I was.” He said, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He absently tightened the belt of his dressing gown. “Thought I’d get some fresh air and remind y’all I ain’t dead yet.”

 

“Wow, your breath _stinks_. You could melt steel with it.” Scout said with a grin.

 

Engineer chuckled slightly. “Well, that’d sure come in handy in my line o’ work.”

 

“I’m just gonna get some food. You need anythin’?”

 

Engineer grimaced at the mention of food, but nodded. “Some water would be fine. I’m fair thirsty.”

 

“You know what my Mom always gives me when I’m sick?”

 

“If you’re gonna say chicken soup, son, the answer’s no, thanks all the same.”

 

“Nah. Ginger ale, stirred until all the bubbles have gone and it’s totally flat. She said the ginger’s good for the pukes, and the sugar and water keep your strength up. I could get you some.”

 

“Worth a try.” Engineer said with a shrug. He stretched and rubbed his cheeks. “Dag nab it, I’m tired.”

 

“Oh, Solly’s been lookin’ for you.”

 

“Yeah? What’s he after?”

 

“You’ll never guess.” Scout gave a snorting laugh. “He says he’s actin’ field medic until we get th’ Doc back, and he wanted to give you a checkup.”

 

Engineer’s hands slowly left his face and his eyes widened with horror. “You don’t say?”

 

“I told him you were totally crashed, an’ it’d be best not to bother ya.” Scout replied with a grin.

 

“Well, son, I was gonna take a look at Respawn again, but maybe I better hide.” He said with a weak laugh. “‘Preciate it, Scout.”

 

“Hey, you’re way too sick to get back to work, anyhow. I bet you’d just fuck it up, or pass out, and we’d get back, I dunno, a Medic with three heads or somethin’. You go back to bed an’ I’ll get that ginger ale for ya, how ‘bout that?”

 

“You’re a good ‘un, son.”

 

“Be right back.” Scout nodded and sped off up the corridor to the mess hall. He could hear Soldier moving about and muttering to himself in there. “Hey Sol, have you seen the WHAT THE FUCK YOU SICK FREAK?!”

 

“Scout! I’ve found out something of vital importance to the team.” Soldier said, motioning Scout to join him. The young man lingered in the doorway, ready to run if the burly man came any closer.

 

Spread out on the table, the table they _ate_ on, were Medic’s frozen remains, arranged in a roughly human shape. Soldier held something organic in his hand.

 

“What do you think, kidney or spleen?”

 

For the first time in his life, Scout was lost for words. His mouth gaped open for a few moments before he swallowed uneasily. “What the hell, dude?”

 

“This is vital to the war effort, Private.” Soldier said. “You ever served in an area that was carpet bombed?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“When performing body counts in the rubble, there’s a vital rule you must always follow: _always look for the head._ Hence the term ‘Head Count’.” He gestured at the sorry fragments of the late doctor.

 

“Uh...”

 

“You see it, don’t you? We don’t have his head.” Soldier stared intently at Scout from under his helmet.

 

“Yeah? Well, maybe it got exploded into bits or somethin’. Now get the poor sonnavabitch off the table before he melts.”

 

“A person cannot not be declared dead without the head.” Soldier said triumphantly. “We don’t have Medic’s head, so...” Soldier’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “ _He’s still alive!_ ”

 

Scout stared at Soldier for a moment. “Wow. Even for you, that’s fuckin’ nuts.”

 

“You got a better explanation, Private?”

 

“Why haven’t we buried him yet anyway?” Scout asked ignoring Soldier’s idiotic question.

 

“In a questionable case such as this, we gotta wait for an autopsy, and for that we need a Medic.”

 

Scout snorted with laughter. “Now how about that for a welcome party? ‘Hey Doc, here’s your room, now before you unpack, can you cut up the dude who did your job before you?’ What the fuck do you expect him to find anyway?”

 

“It’s standard procedure.” Soldier said firmly. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess I’m done here. You can help me put him back into storage.”

 

“Hell no.” Scout stated. He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle. “I’m just here to get some ginger ale for Engie. Hasn’t anyone cleaned out this craphole of a fridge yet?”

 

Soldier wasn’t paying attention, though. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He’s out there, somewhere. I know it. I’m not giving up until I find that head.”

 

“Just put him back in the Goddamn freezer, Sol.”

 

“The Doc’ll be back.” Soldier muttered to himself, picking up a frozen foot. “You wait and see.”

 

Scout just rolled his eyes and silently left. Skipping lunch today suddenly seemed like a great idea.

 

**In Chapter Fourteen: The story reaches its dramatic climax as RED Medic prepares to put his plan into action-and everything goes terribly, horribly wrong.**

 

This chapter's fanart (subtitled Meat The Medic, because I'm a sick bastard): <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Thirteen-Insanity-Squared-443516048>

 

_Translations:_

_Blauenkopf - Blue Head_

__Du bist verrückt_! - You're crazy!  
_


	14. Violet Requiem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably going to hate me for this, but I'm afraid this is the last update for two weeks, because I'm off on holiday. When I get back, I'll post the last two chapters. I hope you don't mind the wait too much.

Galileo was preening BLU Medic's head again, and Kepler snuggled contentedly under his chin. He liked the birds' company, but they did make him rather itchy, and he couldn't do anything about it.

  
"Next page."

Galileo waddled over and flipped the page with his beak before returning to his preening.

_' "Do you feel absolutely no concern for your future, boy?"_

_"Oh, I feel some concern for my future, all right. Sure. Sure, I do." I thought about it for a minute. "But not too much, I guess. Not too much, I guess."_

_"You will," old Spencer said. "You will, boy. You will when it's too late." '_

BLU sniffed in annoyance at the pointless prose and looked over to the RED Medic who was currently staring into the air and tapping a pencil on the desk.. "Any progress?"

"Of a sort." RED cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"You've not healed your finger yet."

"I have more important zhings to work on right now." RED replied sternly, waving his bandaged hand idly. "It's not like I _need_ zhat finger much anyway."

"So, vhat have you found?"

"Zhat it vill vork, but zhere is a little hitch." RED said, showing off a page of calculations. "Zhe strength of electrical current needed to distribute zhe medigun gas effectively is exponentially related vith regards to zhe ratio of tissue needing regeneration tozhe amount of pre-existing healzhy tissue."

"So...you vill need power. A _lot_ of power."

"Precisely." RED smiled warmly at his double. He stood up and walked over to the large infirmary medigun and patted its barrel. He frowned in thought and altered a few dials, turning everything up to maximum. "And zhe procedure must be completed in one session, since ozhervise, eh, well..."

"Quite." BLU grimaced, his imagination working only too well. "Is it possible?"

"Ve vill find out." RED replied with an eager grin. He walked behind BLU for a second, and returned, uncoiling a long, thick cable which he plugged into the gun.

"Er...RED?" BLU asked cautiously. "zhat much current vill melt zhe gun."

"Ja." RED paused, turning away from the head and looking out of the window. He folded his arms behind his back. "In fact, it vill short out our entire base, possibly BLU's too." He turned back and looked at BLU with a solemn, unreadable expression.

"You..." BLU struggled for a moment, trying to figure out he wanted to say. "RED vill find out vhat you did..."

"So zhey vill."

"...Zhey vill vant to know vhy..."

"Ja."

"...You vill be in a _lot_ of trouble." BLU stated.

"Oh, ja."

"RED, I don't zhink zhey vill let you live." BLU said hesitantly. "Whoever is behind zhe cloning, zhe wars, RED and BLU, all zhis... Zhey are very powerful and _zhey vill kill you_."

"Maybe." RED gave a haunting, sad smile.

"Vhy? Vhy do zhis for me?" BLU asked in a whisper.

"Because..." RED paused, running his hand idly over the large medigun. His long face settled into an earnest wistfulness. He looked up at the shiny white dials and its polished red barrel."It is my...duty? Because somevone, somevhere has to give a damn. Because I choose to. Because I understand, now. I see you zhere, and I know vhat I did...to you, and many ozhers. Because I alvays told myself sacrifices had to be made."

"RED..."

The man's head dropped and he looked at the floor. "Because...I am sorry."

"You are a better man zhan I," BLU replied quietly, "My friend."

"Come now, you know zhat is _most definitely_ not true!" The man looked up with a sudden surreally sunny grin.

"It...has been an honour, RED." BLU said hesitantly. "I'm glad ve got to meet."

"So...are you ready to go home?"

"If you are...RED LOOK OUT!" BLU suddenly shouted, but he was too late, far too late, and he watched helplessly as the scene played out in adrenaline-boosted slow motion.

Spy uncloaked

RED Medic turned slightly

Hand in silk glove grabbed his mouth

The syringe stabbed down

Into his neck

A smothered scream

Plunger depressed

RED convulsed once

Twice

And fell.

"NO!" BLU cried.

He watched in horror as the doctor slumped down and landed sprawled sideways on the gurney. For a moment, BLU's eyes met those of the dying man. RED stared desperately at him, his mouth opening soundlessly for a moment before the facial musclesrelaxed and the stare became glassy and fixed.

He dragged his eyes away to look at his friend's murderer, and realised that this was not the BLU Spy, or even the RED spy. Instead, he was dressed in a deep purple, so dark it was almost black.

"He will not respawn." The Spy commented quietly, idly spinning the empty syringe in his hands.

" _Who are you?_ " BLU shrieked, his voice raising an octave with shock.

"I am the Spy." The man stepped back and gave a flourishing bow, still twirling the syringe theatrically. "The original."

"Vhy... vhy..."

"He brought this upon himself with his experiments upon you. I could not allow him to continue any further, and let the little secret you two have stumbled upon become known to the others. He had gone too far. I had little choice." The Violet Spy fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it flat.

"And now you vill kill me too I suppose?" BLU asked defiantly.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But not yet. However, if you tell anyone what you have discovered, you will die- and so will they."

"How many..." BLU croaked weakly.

"How many of you are there? Legions."

"Vhat is zhe _point_ of...of...all _zhis_? Vhy are you doing it?!"

"It's better if you don't know. Just keep doing your job, Docteur. If you excel...maybe you will become valuable, in the long term. Think about it."

"The RED team vill be suspicious. Zhey vill vant to know vhy he died."

"I have done this many times before." The man sighed, melancholy for a moment. He placed the syringe and the piece of paper next to RED. BLU craned for a look and realised it was in his own handwriting:

_I can't go on any more._   
_It was my fault._   
_I disabled Respawn so I could do this._   
_I am just too tired._   
_I am sorry._   
_Medic._

"Vhere did you get zhat note?" He demanded.

"Oh, please." The man replied, rolling his eyes sardonically. "Think about it."

"You know... _him_?"

"Gustav is a good friend of mine." Spy said, getting his cigarette case out. He smiled slightly, as if something amused him. "A very good friend." He lit one of his acrid French cigarettes idly.

"I knew I smelt zhose stinking zhings! Zhey alvays give you avay."

Spy laughed suddenly. "Ah, my dear Medic, that is precisely why I smoke them! Now, may I give you some advice?"

"Vhy vould I vant your advice?" BLU spat.

"Always remember who you _are_ , and think about what that means. _Think_." The man stared down at him, eyes narrow and shrewd, before standing up and giving a slight cough. "And now, as your late colleague said, it is time for you to go home."  
Before Medic could say anything more, a slender, gloved hand reached across dispassionately and yanked the cables out of his life support unit.

The world filled with snowflakes and the waves roared. The seagulls sang their sad requiem and then there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

BLU Soldier had no duties to complete right now, so he decided the most useful thing he could do was go on patrol. Nowhere in particular needed guarding, but it seemed like it would be good practice. Anyway, you never knew when _they_ might come.

He had chosen the corridor by Respawn, just in case Medic's head should choose to make an appearance there. He had looked all over the base, but had not found it. Since it wasn't there, it was obvious what must have happened: that bastard RED team had stolen it! He had tried explaining this to Demo, but the Scotsman had just laughed at him and called him crazy.

  
It was very quiet down here, with just the occasional buzz of tape drives and the metallic clicks of the bank of nine Respawn machines. The front panels were still stacked to one side from Engineer's earlier work, and nine green lights shone, and the needles held steady. He turned around sharply and marched back in the opposite direction.

He wondered how Engineer was fairing. He would have to find out which of the RED mercenaries had poisoned him, and make sure he kicked their ass. Poison was an underhanded, dirty commie trick. Hardhat was an American though- he'd fight those cheap-ass foreign chemicals and pull through. Once the man woke up, Soldier would have to go and check he wasn't getting dehydrated. He had once been shown had to fit an IV saline drip, and he was sure he remembered how to do it.

_Beep._

Soldier spun around, peering out from under his helmet to find out the source of the noise. His eyes darted around in their sockets, searching for a threat. A soft whirring noise ascending in tone made him look towards the bank of machines.

A red light blinked. A dial flicked up to maximum and trembled as if in excitement. There was a buzzing crackle and another panel lit up. Figures and numbers started to scroll in bright blue text on black.

Soldier stared for a moment, and then broke into a run up the concrete stairs, skidding sideways onto the carpeted corridors of the living quarters. He banged on each door as he passed by.

"RED ALERT! SCRAMBLE! _MOVE_ , MAGGOTS!"

"'Ey, what's with all the noise, laddie?"

"Mrr hrrr?"

"REPORT FOR DUTY, ALL PERSONEL! EMERGENCY!"

"That is settled then: Soldier has finally gone completely insane."

"Huh, not a big surprise there, mate."

"Dammit, son, you woke me up. This better be good."

"Listen to me, you sorry sacks of shit," Soldier stopped and turned back to glare at his baffled brothers-in-arms. He took a deep breath "MEDIC IS RESPAWNING!"

"No way, you serious? Hardhat, you rock!"

"Me? Kind of you to say, but I've done nothin'. You know where I've been stuck the last coupla days."

"We need to help Doktor!"

"EVERYONE ASSEMBLE AT THE RESPAWN ROOM. NOW _MOVE_ , PRIVATES!"

The group pounded along the concrete corridors, heading upwards towards the battlements and the respawn room. Soldier tried to lead, but eventually everyone but Heavy and Engineer overtook him.

"Doc!" He heard Scout call. "Damn, Medic, where the fuck have you been?"

"He's back! He's back! Bloody hell it's good to see you, Doc."

Sure enough, when he shoved his way to the front of the crowd, Medic was sitting on the floor of the Respawn Room, blinking slowly and swaying left and right. He clumsily raised a blue-gloved arm and stared at it in childlike wonder before looking up at the gathered mercenaries.

"Look," He declared, his eyes going unfocused, "Hands."

Then he passed out.  


**In Chapter Fifteen: We hear Violet Spy's side of the story, and BLU Medic wakes up to an unexpected surprise.**

This chapter's fanart: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Fourteen-Violet-Requiem-444225340>


	15. Becoming Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Final Chapter will be on Wednesday.

The Violet Spy had watched dispassionately as copy BLM029/c died. The clone’s face went slack as the mind controlling the muscles shut down and the eyes glazed over. For a moment, the severed head looked serene and peaceful before it faded into nothingness as respawn took it.

 

It was one of the more graceful deaths he had been involved in, and one of the few non-permanent ones. When the Administrator sent one of the originals out to a battlefield, clones died.

 

A copy wanting to retire and leave their employment? Execute them.

 

One team of mercenaries not performing well? Remove the team.

 

Two identical copies assigned to the same battlefield? Wipe the slate clean. Keep the secret. Kill them all.

 

Spy knew that the stalemate between the powerful and insane Mann brothers _had_ to be maintained, no matter what the cost was. If they failed, the world would burn. The eleven of them were the fulcrum of the world, the balancers of the scales, the keepers of the peace.

 

Knowledge was power. And Spy liked power.

 

He picked up the fake suicide note and brushed a finger over it, before reverentially picking up the cooling hand of the dead RED Medic and slipping it under his bandaged fingers. He placed the empty syringe close to his right hand. The man’s head was twisted to one side and he stared out of the window of the infirmary with a shocked expression that was slowly stiffening into an inhuman death rictus.

 

_Because it is my...duty? Because somevone, somevhere has to give a damn. Because I choose to. Because I understand, now. I see you zhere, and I know vhat I did...to you, and many ozhers. Because I alvays told myself sacrifices had to be made. Because... I am sorry._

 

When did the price for peace become too high?

 

Spy now knew the answer. It already had. He and his eight brothers-in-arms had discussed the use of the clones many times. They had decided they were just toy soldiers, not _real_ people, not like themselves. The legions of copies were a resource to be used up. Spy, God help him, had agreed. However, the nature of his skills meant he spent more time down on the ground floor than the others, and his experiences had altered him irrevocably.

 

He had watched the clones grow and change, becoming different to the originals. They made friends; protected their allies, took revenge on their enemies and sometimes even fell in love. They became unique and earned their individuality. What was a person but a cloud of dreams, hopes and memories tied together by flesh? Did it matter whether that flesh had been created in a mother’s womb or a laboratory?

 

The RED Medic had been willing to give his life to save his enemy. The Medic that the Violet Spy knew would never have done that. Where had that spark of...of... _humanity_ come from?

 

He walked over to the late Medic’s desk and opened the drawers until he found the man’s journal. He put it down on the desk and sat down, staring at it. The Medic clones generally had an obsession with recording anything and everything and the journal would have to be destroyed in order to keep the secret. He brushed a hand over the battered leather cover.

 

The BLU Medic had _warned_ him! Why had he warned his captor? _Why?_

 

He flicked the journal open to one of the last pages. The doctor’s terrible spidery writing crawled across the page.

 

_...It could have been me, dying by inches and drowning in my own blood as it turned toxic. I look at his face and see myself. I feel like I have suddenly woken up and I can truly see for the first time in my life, and I don’t like the view one bit. I’ve used so many people. Whatever I can do to put this right, I have to do..._

 

Spy closed the journal again and closed his eyes. If this was the price for peace, the world deserved to burn. Perhaps it was time for a little creative incompetence. He carefully put the journal back onto the desk. Hopefully, someone would read it and the blue touch paper would be lit. He then cloaked and left the silent infirmary.

 

Spy knew he was heading for damnation, but it didn’t matter. He was already in hell.

 

* * *

 

 

“Doktor! Where are you?” Heavy called cheerfully, his voice echoing off the cheap plasterboard walls of the RED base. “I have sandvich for you.”

 

Medic had skipped lunch _again_. Honestly, that man! He needed food like everyone else, and as a doctor he knew that. At least he had had a good, hearty breakfast. They had eaten together, with Medic curled up against Heavy and the blankets tumbled and knotted around them. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stayed the night; it would be dangerous if they were found out, after all. However, Medic had said he would hide under the bed if anyone came in and then Heavy had pointed out that he could simply lock his door.

 

As well as their other more physical activities, they had talked for hours the previous night, keeping their voices low so they were not overheard. Or rather, Medic had talked and Heavy had listened, needing to do nothing more than nod occasionally while he stroked Medic’s soft hair. The words had just flowed forth on all sorts of subjects. A lot of it had been completely irrelevant, such as the doctor’s passionate diatribe on the unusual cellular structure of chicken blood, or his musings on the medical importance of the recent discovery of cholinesterase, whatever that was. However, what the man actually said wasn’t that important (which was just as well since Heavy understood about a tenth of it), but the way he said it was. While he spoke, he held on tightly to the bigger man, his head resting on Heavy’s shoulder and his eyes closed. He was trying to keep himself awake and stretch out the night to make it last as long as possible. Eventually, the words became jumbled and slower, dropping down to a sleepy, content murmur.

 

“I don’t vant to leave.” He had said finally with a sad sigh.

 

“Then don’t leave.” Heavy had replied. “Stay.”

 

“Ja, I stay.” He had murmured, his breathing becoming deep and soft.

 

Heavy had looked down at his sleeping lover and smiled slightly, wondering whether Spy really deserved to get his nose broken or not. His teasing had most definitely _not_ been good-natured, but he had forced Medic to break down those final walls and stop hating himself for being human. His doctor was at peace now; calm and relaxed for the first time in his life. Ah well, he could make a final decision about Spy in the morning, he had thought.

 

Now it was afternoon, and sandwich in hand, Heavy poked his head into Medic’s bedroom, but he wasn’t there. Presumably, then, he was in the infirmary working on whatever weird project he had on the go right now. Heavy walked along the corridor towards Medic’s lair, balancing his plate carefully.

 

He paused outside the double doors, feeling slightly puzzled. It was awfully quiet and Medic was not a quiet person. When not actually talking, he was always humming tunelessly, pacing or clattering equipment about. Ah well, he would go and check if he was there anyway. He pushed the door open with his elbow.

 

“Doktor?”

 

He peered in around the door, and the plate dropped from his hand and shattered as he saw the man in the white coat sprawled gracelessly across the stretcher.

 

“Gustav!”

 

In the busy, hellish years that would follow, Heavy would never be able to remember the next few seconds. Perhaps he had blocked them out, or maybe he simply had had no thoughts for that period of time. One moment, he was standing in the doorway, and the next he had teleported to Medic, cradling him in his arms. The man was cold, and starting to stiffen. He looked down at the grey face, its eyes open and dull.

 

He shook the man’s cold shoulders and could hear himself babbling hoarsely as he desperately pulled Medic onto his back and cradled his head, knowing it was hopeless, but unable to stop himself. “Nyet, nyet, prosnut’sya. It’s me. It’s me. Nye ostavlyay menya! Not happening! This is not happening! PROSNUT’SYA!”

 

“Ty mne nuzhen, doktor. Nye ostavlyay menya, we go together...” He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, and then held the dead man tightly, rocking back and forth in despair.

 

“Nye vi, Gustav... nyet...prosnut’sya. Pozhaluysta.”

 

A small slip of paper fluttered down slowly from the gurney to the white tiled floor. He picked it up in shaking hands, and read it.

 

A broken roar of pure anguish and pain shook Teufort, and three white doves flew high into the pure blue desert sky.

 

* * *

 

 

BLM029/c slowly woke up but kept his eyes closed, not wanting to face the world yet, or indeed, ever. Everything hurt from the neck downwards, and it felt like the world was spinning around him like a child’s toy. The beating of his heart and movement of his lungs seemed incredibly distracting after so long without them, and his limbs felt oddly shaped and awkward. If he was lucky, he could fall asleep and ignore this world for a bit longer. If he was even luckier, he wouldn’t wake up again.

 

Everything hurt- but the turmoil in his mind was the worst part of all. He wanted the pain to get worse so it would drown out his thoughts. In the confusion of the last few days, every single certainty in his life had been burnt down. Life would never make any sense again and he had nothing left to cling to. He felt homesick for a home he had never had, a time he had never lived in, and the person he had never been. He couldn’t even bring himself to ponder on the classic philosophical questions of ‘Who am I’ or ‘Why am I here?’, because he knew the answers, and they weren’t pleasant.

 

“Coo?” The dove’s call was soft and sad, and a hard beak pecked his ear insistently. He winced, but ignored it. Then there was a hard tug on his hair and he opened his eyes in annoyance.

 

He was lying in a bed with crisp white sheets, but without his glasses he couldn’t make out much more than blurred walls and a lot of colourful shapes of different sizes on the table by the side of the bed.

 

“Coo.”

 

“Galileo?” He croaked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The dove tucked himself under Medic’s chin, and he could feel the little bird shivering. He tried to make out what the colourful things were, but everything was far too fuzzy. There was a greyish object next to the white thing that looked like it could be his glasses, and he reached for them- only to find out he could barely control his arm and his flailing hand knocked a glass flying. It fell off the table and shattered, the noise deafeningly loud in the quiet room.

 

“Medic?” The door to the infirmary opened and a one-eyed head poked in inquisitively. He grinned in delight at the weakened man in the bed and then banged the door open. “Lads! He’s awake! THE DOC’S AWAKE!”

 

“Vhat...” He tried to pull himself upright but his body just would not do as it was told as the BLU mercenaries poured into the room, bringing noise and life with them.

 

“Fuck it Doc, ‘bout time you woke up! You’ve been out for two days.”

 

“Great to have you back, Doc. Boy you sure did worry us there for a bit.”

 

“Er...” He croaked as two huge arms grabbed him in a crushing bear hug and he was unable to do anything but dangle uselessly until Heavy chose to release him.

 

“Stop crowdin’ the poor bugger, give ‘im some air.”

 

“Doktor is back! Is happy day!” The arms gave him a final squeeze and then released him so that he thumped back onto the pillows.

 

“I told you he wasn’t dead, but none of you sorry maggots listened to me!”

 

“Where’d the bird come from? Shoo! Filthy rats with wings.”

 

“Coo?”

 

“Yrrrrr whhhl hnnnn hurrrhudda hhrrrrn.”

 

“Bitte,” He whispered, annoyed at his voice being so weak, “I need my glasses.”

 

“Here.” A blue-gloved hand picked them up and placed them in his hand. Spy slipped through to the front of the group of men. “You gave us quite the fright, Docteur.”

 

Medic tried not to flinch away from the Frenchman and cleared his throat. “Danke...two days, you said?”

 

“You’ve been out of it for five days in total.” Engineer stated, patting him on the shoulder and watching him carefully. “We found out yesterday from the Administrator what happened. It’s a wretched, terrible thing, for sure. The RED’s Medic did himself in with a needle full o’ cyanide, and he had it all planned out beforehand. Meddled with Respawn so he’d stay dead. Seems that did a number on our systems as well, and you got stuck smack dab in the middle of it all. Last battle when you died, well son, you just plain din’t come back until three days ago.”

 

“Yeah and ye were right off your legs when you got back.” Demo added. “Seems bein’ stuck in the machine drained you doon to the last drop. You got lots o’ time to rest and recover- we’re in ceasefire ‘til RED hires themselves a new Medic.”

 

_Until they create a new Medic._

 

“I see...” He said slowly, trying to figure out what the correct reply was, but internally he was fuming as he thought back to how RED’s murder had been covered up. He vowed he would make the Administrator _suffer_ for this. Somehow.

 

“Coo?” Pasteur and Kepler flew down from their perch on top of a screen and landed on the back of Medic’s bed next to Galileo.

 

“Leetle birds like Doktor. Where did they come from?”

 

“I have no idea.” BLU lied quickly. “Zhey can stay, zhough.” Lying on his back, he could see three sets of beady eyes staring back at him. The three birds looked identical from this distance, especially without his glasses, but they were all different. Galileo was smart and friendly, Kepler was sociable but rather stupid, and Pasteur was the shy one.

 

His eyes widened as he stared at the birds and the clouds of exhaustion in his mind parted for a moment and let the clear sun flood through.

 

_How far and how deep did this rabbit-hole go?_

 

Oh yes. He now knew how to get the perfect revenge on the woman who had done this to them all, and all it would take would be a few words.

 

“Why would anyone top themselves?” Scout asked, breaking into his thoughts. “I just don’t get it.”

 

“Those REDs are just cowards, one and all.” Soldier declared. “Maybe he was sick of getting his ass kicked by us heroes.”

 

“Show some respect, boy.” Engineer said warningly. “The guy must’ve had some bad troubles to do such a terrible thing.”

 

Medic tried to haul himself upright again and failed, his disobedient arms flailing and slipping as he tried to push against the white sheets. Heavy suddenly grabbed him bodily and hauled him upright and he made an undignified squeak of protest. He looked down and carefully forced his fingers to unfold his glasses.

 

Putting his glasses on was far more difficult than it should have been; he had to move his arm like _this_ , fingers like _this_ , and every step of the exercise took concentration. It seemed that during the three days of being just a head, his nervous system had partly forgotten how arms worked. Finally, he got them settled on his nose and the world became sharp and clear. All of the BLU team- even Spy- looked relieved and happy that he was back. He looked over at the colourful objects on the cluttered table. There was a basket of fruit, a rather pathetic bouquet of wilting desert flowers in a blue bow, a purple box of chocolates, a bottle of brown liquor, and in front of those, eight hand-made ‘Get Well Soon’ cards. The one with the inexpertly-drawn rainbow and unicorn could have been from Pyro, he decided, while the one with the perfectly drawn Times typeface must have been from Engineer (He later found out he was wrong about this- it was from Spy, much to his surprise). He worked his way along the row, analysing each card to figure out who it was from. In the front stood a sparklingly clean carafe of iced water and a bowl of grapes. He found himself just staring the display numbly for a moment, trying to figure out why it was there.

 

“All zhis...” He waved an arm clumsily, “Zhis is razher unexpected.”

 

“Unexpected?” Engineer chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed shaking his head ruefully. “We missed you, Doc. You’re one o’ the team, and you’re our friend.”

 

Medic could only gape in baffled shock, and he felt his eyes start to prickle. _No...oh no... please, not now..._ But his tear glands were not listening. Whether it was surprise, shock, stress, or just simple physical trauma from his horrible ordeal, he couldn’t say, but as the wave of pure emotion dissolved him into a blubbering, snotty mess, he vaguely thought that maybe he had earned the privilege of letting himself be human, just this once.

 

**In Chapter Sixteen: The Aftermath. The ceasefire is nearly over, but first, BLU Medic gets his revenge on the Administrator.**

This chapter's fanart: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Fifteen-Becoming-Human-445272763>

_Translations:_

_Nyet, nyet, prosnut’sya. - No, no, wake up.  
_

_Nye ostavlyay menya! -Don't leave me!_

_Ty mne nuzhen - I need you  
_

_Pozhaluysta - Please_


	16. The Broken Angel

_Author's note: News of a sequel below..._

The next day, Medic 029/c decided he was bored of being in bed and had got up to go for a stagger around the BLU base with Galileo riding on his shoulder. He was rapidly recovering, physically at least, and he decided it was time to make a trip downstairs to the Comms Room.

 

He and the Administrator needed to have a little talk.

 

Stairs were tricky, it seemed, but he held on to the rail tightly and worked his way down each step at a time until he reached the deepest levels of the base.

 

It was quiet and dusty in here as always, and he padded over to the chair by the microphone and sat down gratefully before his legs gave out. The microphone itself was cracked and bent for some reason, but when he pressed the taped-on transmit button, it still lit up.

 

“Frau Administrator, a moment of your time, bitte.”

 

“What do you want, Twenty Nine C?” The voice replied immediately. Medic raised his eyebrows in surprise. The woman wasn’t playing her normal mind-games and keeping him waiting.

 

“Two zhings.” He replied, leaning forward and steepling his fingers. “Firstly, I have a razher odd request. I need some hair dye supplied before zhe next battle. It vould be...unfortunate...if zhe REDs recognised me.”

 

There was a pause before the voice replied thoughtfully. “So it would. It will arrive tomorrow.”

 

“Secondly, I vas vondering if you vould like to join me in a little zhought experiment.”

 

“I’m not here to play games, Medic.”

 

“Very vell. Just listen, zhen.” Medic leaned back, and looked at the ceiling. “It must be a busy job, being zhe Administrator.”

 

There was no reply.

 

“Taking command of _both_ sides of zhe battle. Zhat must be a full time job.”

 

There was another pause, before she replied. “Get to the point.”

 

“And now I know zhat zhere are _legions_ of battlegrounds around zhe vorld, filled vith ve clones, all of zhem fighting for...vhatever reason ve fight for.”

 

There was more silence, but now it seemed more busy and thoughtful than before.

 

“Far more zhan one person can handle.” He leaned forward intently, eyes narrowed. “So...vhich of _you_ is zhe original?”

 

There was a click as the speaker went suddenly dead.

 

Medic smiled dreadfully and left the silent room.

 

* * *

 

 

RED Heavy had had all his tears stolen from him in the gulags of Siberia, so he watched dry-eyed and dead inside as the scrap-metal coffin was slowly lowered into the dusty yellow desert soil of Teufort. He felt nothing but a tired, cynical rage as his dearest friend, his lover, his broken angel, went to his final rest.

 

“We commend the soul of our brother departed to Almighty God, and we commit his body to the earth.” Engineer said, his voice soft but clear and unwavering. He picked up a handful of desert soil and flung it onto the coffin with a metallic clatter. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; may you find the peace you never found in this life in the hereafter, Gustav Hans Daecher.”

 

The group of eight mercenaries lifted their assorted guns and pistols and each fired a shot into the clear pink dawn. Pyro’s flare gun fired a whistling firework. It shot straight into the sky and exploded into pure red stars that crackled and faded into nothingness.

 

“Goodbye, Doc.” Engineer said with a sigh.

 

Soldier lifted the bugle to his lips and started to play. The notes rang out pure in the still morning air. For once he didn’t have his helmet on, and his eyes shone with emotion. Heavy looked around at the other mercenaries. Scout was holding his eyes wide open and face still, jaw clenched so firmly it trembled, and Demo sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Sniper stood to attention, his hat held to his waist respectfully. Pyro looked down at the hole in the ground, as unreadable as always. Spy, though...his shoulders shook and tears streamed down his face, soaking into his damp balaclava. His gloved hands trembled as he placed his pistol back into its hidden holster. Heavy felt nothing but disgust and loathing for the pathetic display.

 

Soldier sounded the last, lingering note and then stood stiffly to attention for a few seconds. There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the distant call of a dove.

 

“Come on, fellas. Let’s get this done.” Engineer muttered, grabbing a shovel. The men pocketed weapons, shuffled awkwardly and then started shovelling dry dirt into the hole that would be Medic’s final home. There were a few moments filled with nothing but the metallic clang of shovels on soil before Spy finally broke the silence.

 

“I swear I didn’t know this would happen.” He cried suddenly. “I _swear_ it. If I had known...ah, Mon Dieu. I never meant...I never knew... It was only a little teasing!”

 

“Seems the Doc didn’t see it like that.” Engineer replied coldly.

 

Heavy jabbed his spade into the dirt and flung it into the grave. Why had his Doktor done this? He must have had it planned before that last night together. Was that just a final act of reckless abandon before the end? What had it meant to the man? He played the last week back in his head, but he couldn’t see anything that could have warned him. Medic had- been distracted, yes, but he had seemed happy!

 

“Don’t beat yerself up, Spy.” Demo said gruffly. “Ye couldn’t have known he was so...troubled.”

 

“I don’t believe it.” Soldier growled. “Medic was no coward. He’d not take this easy path. He...was _murdered_. Maybe by those Goddamn BLUs.”

 

“Srrrrmmmhrrmms hhrrrrdrrr hrrsss hrrrrm surrssssurrrhnnnly. Mrrrrs nrrrrurrrnnns frrrrrlln.” Pyro said, shrugging.

 

“You could be right, Sparkie.” Engineer sighed. “Goddamn it, Doc, why din’t you _talk_ to us first?”

 

It didn’t make any sense. _It didn’t make any sense._ He wouldn’t do this, not Medic. Heavy put his shovel down.

 

“I need to go check on thing.” He told the others, and walked off without looking back.

 

He plodded back into the RED base and down to the infirmary. Broken equipment littered the wrecked room and the central gurney lay on its side, its ripped sheets tumbled across the floor amongst shattered glass. His footsteps crunched as he waded through the mess towards Medic’s untidy desk. His large hand rested upon a battered leather journal, and he picked it up carefully and flicked back to the previous week. He sat down on the creaking chair, and started to read the words of the dead doctor.

 

_June 10 th, 1968._

_Birdwatching: Passerculus sandwichensis, qty. 1. Western Meadowlark, qty. 3. Memo: look up taxon. name. Sniper is v.ignorant._

_Arrival at Teufort. A long and tiring journey. While birdwatching today, I saw something extraordinary. I will need to make plans and investigate what this could possibly mean, but I am determined to find out the truth even if it kills me..._ ”

 

Heavy frowned and turned the page.

 

* * *

 

 

_Broken Angel,_

_Searching for a soul,_

_What will you do when your world burns down?_

 

It was 7am, and BLU Medic 029/c decided it was time to stop pretending to be sleep, and pulled himself wearily out of bed. The ceasefire would end today and it was time to get back to work. He was, supposedly, fully recovered, but the thought of going into battle again and facing the RED’s newly created replacement filled him with revulsion.

 

He ran a hand through his freshly bleached hair, rubbed his eyes, coughed, and then reached for his glasses. He padded over to the mirror hanging on the back of his door.

 

_Ergh_.

 

He looked like death. Pale, sallow skin, hollow cheeks, three days of stubble and eyes set deeply into shadowed sockets. He pulled his pyjama top down slightly. It was still there: a ring of pink scar tissue now circled the base of his neck. His hand brushed over it, tracing the slightly sore ridge with his fingers. For a moment he pondered the way that humans showed their physical condition so much more obviously than other mammals- why was that? Maybe because they were not a prey species, and thus did not have to hide weakness? He yawned. _So tired._ During the day, he could keep the questions at bay, but at night they rattled around his exhausted mind. He supposed he would adapt in time, but it was hard, so very hard, to find out your entire life was a lie.

 

He had once, as a child, run along a path that had been eroded by a bad storm. The ground had suddenly vanished from under his feet and he had fallen through the air, utterly lost with no idea what had happened or how he had got there. He felt that like again now.

 

Except that child had not been him. He had had no childhood. At a guess, he had lived a mere seven or eight months at most. His past belonged to someone else. He wasn’t Gustav Daecher, German refugee, disgraced doctor and trauma surgeon. The only name that was truly his was BLM029/c. One of many. Just a number. Entirely expendable, and likely to live a life that would be nasty, brutish and short, and to be discarded when he was no longer of use.

 

What kept him awake every night was the question: _what was his purpose?_ Not to fight in this strangely pointless war- that was someone else’s aim for him. He needed something, anything that he could cling to, to give his life the tiniest hydrogen gas puff of meaning. However, his mind searched all through the night and no answer came.

 

He was still staring at himself in the mirror. This was no good! Moping like this would get him nowhere. Keep busy. Try not to think too much. Fill the day and maybe he’d survive until tomorrow. He squared his shoulders, grabbed his towel and spongebag and left his room. A door banged open a little further down the corridor.

 

“Hey Doc, off to the showers? I’ll come with you.” Scout said, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

 

“Ah, er...good?” In the last few days, Scout had been, well, a pest. No matter where he went, the young man seemed to be determined to keep him company. It was rather irritating, really. Yes, irritating. Definitely.

 

“Ya sleep well?”

 

“Ja.” He lied shortly, not particularly interested in conversation so early in the morning.

 

“Awright, then.” Scout, for once, seemed to have picked up on his mood and kept silent as they walked to the shower block. There was a wave of damp warmth as they entered the wet room and the sound of deep, gravelly and astonishingly bad singing.

 

“Heavy, turn it down a bit, I can’t hear meself think.” Demo’s voice complained through the steam as he entered. “Mornin’ Doc.”

 

“Doktor!” Heavy turned around with a grin and rested his large arms on the tiled half-wall of the communal showers. “Is great day! Everybody is well, and Sasha is excited to be back to work. You stay with me and we kill many leetle RED babies.”

 

“If you vish.” He replied awkwardly. Since he had got back from his ordeal, the team had been...had been...

 

_Friendly._

 

He wasn’t sure how to cope with that at all. They were obviously determined to include him in everything now, but he couldn’t see what he had done to merit this. A few times, he had gone into the infirmary and simply sat and stared at the eight cards they had made, trying to extract every single atom of meaning from them. He had so little in common with any of them- so why were they bothering with him? What did they stand to gain from it?

 

And yet...while it was confusing, disconcerting and foolish, he felt like an addict who had injected their first ever dose of sweet diamorphine. Something deep within his soul wanted more and was determined to get it, even if he couldn’t quite figure out how. He slowly discarded his clothes and got under the warm spray of water, feeling it soothing his fractured nerves. His mind gnawed at the problem, and he had a sudden idea. It might fail, but surely it was worth a try?

 

“Heavy, I have been meaning to ask you a favour.” He said cautiously.

 

“Name it, Doktor.”

 

“I...lost a book I vas reading. I vas wondering if you had a copy I could borrow. It is called ‘Zhe Catcher in zhe Rye’. I never finished it.”

 

Medic had never seen Heavy surprised before. It was actually quite fascinating, watching how his sparse eyebrows shot up his head and his nostrils flared like that. For a moment, he even thought the large man’s cheeks reddened slightly, before he smiled down at the doctor. Their eyes met.

 

“Da, Doktor. Is hard to read, but good book.” Heavy looked at him searchingly. “I bring it over later, after battle.”

 

“Danke.”

 

And oddly enough, the world suddenly seemed a little bit brighter. Maybe, just maybe, he even felt a little spark of hope...

 

Later, washed and clean-shaven, Medic wandered back to his infirmary. Galileo, Kepler and Pasteur greeted him enthusiastically and demanded food. He threw some seed onto the tiled floor of the room and watched them with the ghost of a smile.

 

“Do you miss him?”

 

Kepler and Pasteur ignored him, far more interested in their food, but Galileo looked up with his tiny black eyes. They were far more expressive than any bird’s eyes had any right to be.

 

“I vill remember him, and how he died. Ve should never forget him. Zhat is all ve can do.”

 

Galileo flew up and landed on his shoulder, pressing his soft head into Medic’s cheek as he had so many times in RED’s infirmary. He remembered reading that birds had a higher body temperature than humans, and the little round skull certainly felt feverishly hot next to his skin. He tickled the back of the dove’s head soothingly.

 

“Mission begins in fifteen minutes.”

 

“Vell, here ve go.” He said with a sigh. “If I meet zhe new RED Medic, I am sawing his head off. Just on principle, you understand. And if I meet any Spies...”

 

“Coo!”

 

He grabbed his blue rubber gloves and medigun and headed out of the white-tiled room.

 

_Your chains are shattered,_

_Yet to them you cling..._

 

“Mission begins in five minutes.”

 

Medic adjusted a strap and settled his backpack more comfortably. It seemed a little heavier than he remembered, but maybe that was simply because he had a new canister of medigun gas today. His throat had that odd feeling again and he coughed slightly.

 

“You sure you’re good to go, Doc?” Engineer asked, opening his toolbox and getting out his beloved wrench.

 

“Ja, I am entirely recovered,” Medic lied easily, “And you?”

 

Engineer grinned disarmingly. “Oh, sure, it was just a stomach upset. Happens to us all sometimes. I’m fine now. Shame the timing was so gosh-darned bad.”

 

“Doktor stay with me today. I keep you safe.” Heavy ordered.

 

“Mission begins in three minutes.”

 

“How’s the hand, Sniper?” Soldier asked.

 

“Healing nicely, mate. Doc took the stitches out yesterday. Stings a bit, but it’s fine.”

 

Medic found himself vaguely wondering what the real Dr. Daecher was doing right now. Probably living a life of luxury on the money 29/c had made for him and getting that amnesty he had been trying to earn. He suddenly hated the man.

 

And then _it_ happened- the moment in his existence that he would later look back on and think of as the point when his old life shattered and was rebuilt into something new and astoundingly different. There was a flash of blinding light in his mind as he realised the shocking, astonishing implication of all that he had found out in the last few days:

 

_He was innocent._

 

The records on his teammates were very clear on one thing: the nine original mercenaries were all outlaws, criminals and pariahs, on the run from those who would do them harm. They had accepted this work in return for protection. Medic carried their memories- _but he had not committed their crimes._

 

“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”

 

He was free.

 

_He was free!_

 

Teufort was designed like a cage, he had realised, as much to keep them in as to keep the outside world out. It had never worried him before, since where else did he have to go?

 

Now, though, like a white rose bud unfolding in the Spring, the world was opening up before him. He and his eight colleagues had nothing to fear and no one to avoid. The Administrator’s hold on them was as ephemeral as a cloud in the midday sun.

 

_Tortured by hope in the blood-red night?_

 

He would make allies. He looked around at the other eight mercenary clones waiting in the Resupply room for the approaching battle. His comrades. His... friends, maybe. The only ones he had ever had. All of them carried someone else’s guilt, not their own.

 

And somewhere out there was 029/a. He would find him.

 

“Mission begins in ten seconds.”

 

And now, they could fight back against those who used them and threw them away.

 

“Five.”

 

“Four.”

 

“Three”

 

Medic felt his face stretch into a terrible smile.

 

“Two.”

 

“One.”

 

Soldier roared his usual battle cry as they poured out of the room. Medic 029/c trained his medigun onto the back of Heavy and ran after the team onto the battlements. As he entered the battleground, he felt as if a balloon of pure white joy had inflated within his chest. He felt feather-light, free and unburdened for the first time in his short, shadowed life. An explosion hit the concrete wall to his right, covering him in scorching grit, and he started to laugh. He healed the wounds of his colleagues, his _friends_ , and once again decided who would live and who would die and respawn, and still he laughed. He could not stop laughing. Would not stop.

 

He was happier than he had ever been before as he flicked the switch on his gun and surrounded himself and Heavy in a pure cocoon of holy blue light. They ran forward, mowing down the REDs who stood in their way, and his laughter rose into an insane, shrieking banshee wail that echoed off the grim walls of Teufort and rose high into the blue desert sky.

 

He loved this part.

 

**The End.**

 

This Chapter's artwork: <http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-Sixteen-The-Broken-Angel-446114779>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that final triumphant note, we're done. I hope you've enjoyed reading this story. I certainly enjoyed writing and illustrating it. When I finished this chapter and started publishing (I always complete a story before I publish a single chapter because I'm clinically insane), I intended this story to be a one-off, but I realised I had an idea for a sequel. I am always a little wary of sequels, since they are rarely as good as the originals, but I had an idea about exactly how this story could end and thought: 'Ooh I totally have to write that!'. It's already 2/3rds written and is novel length. Once I've completed it, I'll publish it twice a week, as I did with this one. So far I'm having great fun writing it, although it's a real challenge writing something of this scope, since the story takes place over several years and in many places.
> 
> So, let me show you a little teaser image, and tell you about it....<http://sanctuscecidit.deviantart.com/art/Send-In-The-Clones-Title-Page-455736763>
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention, the sequel will also be illustrated because Source Filmmaker is fun. 
> 
> **Send In The Clones**
> 
>  
> 
> Due to nothing more than a silly administrative error, two men found out the terrible truth behind their jobs at RED and BLU. Letting others know their dreadful secret could mean their deaths- but secrets have a way of getting out.
> 
> Scarred, battered and possibly not too sane, Medic finds himself trapped between three wars as all hell breaks loose. There is only one way he can survive- he has to trust a member of the enemy team, and a backstabbing, murderous, slimy, two-faced snake of a Spy. Can he learn to work with his mortal enemies, or is the clones’ rebellion doomed before it starts?


End file.
